


Let's Make Love Not Dinner

by LittleTiger



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Masturbation, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Abuse, Smut, trigger warning: car accident
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-04
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2018-04-29 20:07:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 42,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5140898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleTiger/pseuds/LittleTiger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A string of car accidents has been occurring and Hannibal happens upon one of the victims. She's an up and coming artist who he finds before the attacker has a chance to come back for her. Not your usual starving artist, and with a connection to a killer, she becomes close with Hannibal and the rest of the team.</p><p>There will be lemons, if any of you know what those are, brownie points.<br/>Maybe light to moderate bdsm later.</p><p>Hannibal Lecter/OFC</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What's in a car? That with any other model would survive a car crash!

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own any of the characters besides Sloane, her roommate and her dog. 
> 
> Please feel free to read and review. I'm open to critiquing as long as it's reasonable and not just changing the ship to what you would prefer. 
> 
> Do not feel like I am trivializing any mental diseases or problems. If you think I am, please message me in private.
> 
> Thank you very much for taking the time to read this.

 It was raining. No, correction, pouring. The streets were dark and cold as it was quickly approaching December. Cars flew by and it was about two in the morning when the accident happened. The woman in her own car had been a little distracted as she focused on just trying to make it home before sun rise. The roads were unforgiving and her eyes glancing side to side when suddenly a car hit her hard from behind. She yelped helplessly as her car spun out to the side, hitting a tree at almost full speed, coming to a sudden, wrenching stop. If it had not been for her seat belt and airbag, she may have not survived.

As it was, she pulled her head away from the airbag and felt blood trickling down her face as she gasped for air. She was unsure what to make of what had just happened. She tried to turn her head to see if the perpetrator too had lost all ability to move his car, but all she could see was rain and empty road. A hysterical sob emitted from her throat for a few moments as she realized that with how dark the night was no one would probably even notice her car so far off the road.

The seatbelt had a tight grip on her as she reached down and unclicked it, feeling where the bruise would be by tomorrow. Her heart pounded in her chest as she pushed herself to calm down. If she didn't call someone, there wouldn't exactly be anyone to help. A choked out sigh managed to push its way out of her chest as she felt an overall pain, but for the most part was surprised to find herself pretty intact with nothing feeling too broken. At least her hands had survived, if not a bit scraped up by the glass... Reaching over into what was once the passenger seat she slid her purse and a small briefcase from under the bent metal. Her eyes looked to her own door and she had a feeling she wouldn't be able to open it, either from the damage or just from the sheer pain in her arms. As the adrenaline seemed to not be pumping as fast she pulled out her phone and attempted to put down the window before turning her car off. The fair haired woman knew she needed to get out of the car and soon. Luckily nothing too important was in there besides her purse and personal documents. She put the items that she'd had in her hands on top of the vehicle and her phone into her coat pocket as she began to try and extract herself from the front, groaning in the process. Her legs having been borderline trapped under the steering helm hadn't made this process any easier.

As she was about halfway out the window a pair of lights stopped on her, making the woman freeze like a deer in headlights. Had the crazy asshole come back to finish the job? Maybe it was someone she'd pissed off. She raked her mind, unable to think of anyone when she heard the soft footsteps after the opening of the door. They sounded deliberate and gentle as if not wanting to spook her, like she was some sort of fragile animal. Although seeing a woman half out of her window in a crashed car that looked destroyed from the front and rear-ended from the back, maybe she was a little fragile at the moment.

“Do you need any help miss?” a low and distinct voice called, a lot closer than she'd anticipated making her jump a bit and twitch in pain as it had made her ankle hit the steering wheel.

She slowly turned to see an older man with fashion that could rival almost any of her friends. Wait, why was she focused on his clothes? She was trapped in her own car in the middle of the night and all she could seem to notice on him was his clothes...

“Uh... probably...” she croaked out, trying to wipe some of the blood off the lower half of her face in slight embarrassment.

The man came closer, seeming to examine the wreck closely before looking back up at her. It wasn't surprise, but it wasn't exactly sympathy either. Maybe an attempt at sympathy.

“How unfortunate. I almost didn't see you but your hair stuck out in the dark.” he commented, reaching in his pocket and pulling out a handkerchief, holding it out to her.

The woman tentatively reached for it, taking it from his hand slowly before he stopped her with a gentle grip on her fingers, his hand seeming to avoid the shards of glass still in her hands. His eyes looking at the hand he had and the one that was propped up on the top of her car for leverage.

“I'm sorry about that. I hadn't noticed your hands were also hurt.” he commented as she gave a small nod, slipping her hand from his to put the handkerchief to her face and try and wipe off the some of the blood that didn't seem to be stopping any time soon. “Do you remember your name?” he asked softly, pulling a phone from one of his own pockets.

A violent shade of red crossed her face, well, the parts not already with blood on it of course as she at first interpreted it wrong before realizing she had just been in a car accident... Had she blacked out? What time was it?

“It's... Meridith Flemming. But... everyone calls me Sloane...” she muttered out, looking a bit confused as he didn't seem to be dialing 911.

If she could make a face without it hurting, she probably would have looked at him as if he were the dumbest person she'd ever met. And what was with that accent? Sloane watched as he walked to the back of her car and crouched down, looking at her license plate, talking very fast to someone on the line. She could make out a few words about something not being someone's department and no need for an ambulance? Her stomach dropped as she tried to wiggle out of the car, something catching one of her feet. It was the stupid steering wheel... She groaned as she pulled, whimpering in the process as she felt something pulling that shouldn't have been pulling.

This fucker was going to kill her! What if he was in cahoots with the guy who'd hit her? It dawned on her as she slowly looked to him. She hadn't been paying much mind but had heard about some serial killer on the radio. Her body froze as he looked to her with something that almost looked like pity, almost. Tears streamed her cheeks as she thought that this was the end. She was dead, and there was no one here to save her. The man walked over, putting the phone away and seeing the tears on her face, looking a bit confused but she could tell he was chalking it up to shock. He gingerly took the handkerchief from her hand and dabbed at her eyes.

“I am sorry for not introducing myself before. You must be frightened. My name is Hannibal Lecter, but feel free to call me Hannibal if it makes you more comfortable. I'm a psychiatrist that assists with a forensic team. I'm going to have some of them come out and have a look at your car since we're not sure if the culprit has made away or is simply stopped somewhere. I used to be a doctor so don't worry too much about having to go to the emergency room. It doesn't look too serious but if something is indeed off I can get you to a doctor quickly. Did you seem to blackout? How much time has spanned since the incident?” he spoke in such a tone that she felt almost compelled to listen and not interrupt for fear of possibly angering this man.

His hands were gentle as they brushed the glass out of her own and he cleaned off most of the excess blood as it seemed the injuries in her nose were finally starting to clot. Her nose hurt, but it didn't feel broken. She felt the sting as the rain must've lightened up to a light spray sometime from when she'd been hit and when he'd found her. Maybe he was telling the truth, but he could also be lying to her. Jeffrey Dahmer had fooled many into believing he was a figure they could trust. And there was a serial killer out on the loose, so what made this guy so safe? But if he wanted to kill her, would he be taking care of her wounds and talking to her in a soothing voice? Sloane struggled between hope and realism as she just listened to him. Wait, he'd gone silent. What had he asked her? Something about blacking out and time...

“I'm not sure... my clock on my dash got destroyed by the tree and I haven't really looked at my phone since... ya know... Hitting a fucking tree.” she winced as she saw him look her in the eye when she had sworn in front of him, it felt almost as if it were some sort of sin. “Sorry, I have a bit of a colorful vocabulary... and this is my first wreck in ten years and I kinda wanted to avoid it after last time...” she muttered, looking at the sodden ground.

“It's nothing to apologize for. Car wrecks can be quite traumatic. I hate to press, but if you had to guess how much time has passed...” he said, still holding one of her hands.

Sloane felt as if her cheeks were on fire and she wasn't sure what from. The adrenaline, the attractive random guy who might or might not be a serial killer, or just from crying, it was a lot to take in at this time of the morning, or night. She couldn't decide.

“As much as I'd wish it were only a few moments, maybe an hour? The last look of the clock I got said about 1:54 AM, I think. Then that stupid fucking drunk came out of nowhere and hit me... Fuck... I was only supposed to be gone for a few days. I really don't want to go to a hospital. Please don't make me go. My psychiatrist drills me enough about my life choices, I don't need a doctor patronizi- I'm sorry... No offense.” she said, stopping in her tracks as she realized she was probably about to start insulting him to his face.

His expression seemed to change to one of slight bemusement at her halting and embarrassment. Sloane pulled her hands from his to push her hair out of her face and rake her fingers through her hair. It may have gotten blood in her hair but damn it, she was frustrated and doing that somehow seemed to help, if only a little bit. He'd mentioned only noticing her because of her hair... Ever since she was little it was almost like a pure white instead of normal blonde. And her body was practically covered in freckles... Kids used to say she was the ginger that ran out of ink halfway through printing. Ugh, high school was not the thing to think about, especially because it reminded her of her old accident. Sloane looked up to see him looking at her legs, a bit perplexed and then turning to her with that gentle expression again that made her feel like some sort of fragile and feral small animal. Probably a cat.

“I can get you out of the car, but I need you to trust me... you mentioned staying away from home for a few days... Do you have a suitcase of some sort?” he asked.

Hannibal may not have intended to, but Sloane felt more patronized than anything. She'd never been one for being treated like a wounded animal. At this point though she didn't think she could put up a fight since everything hurt.

“Yeah... in the trunk. Although I have no clue how in the fuck anyone can get to them... And, I guess. Good luck though, my foot is stuck somehow in the driving wheel. I think it's because the steering column got bent...” she muttered, rubbing her hands on her face, having given up on feeling pretty at this point.

Sloane was tired and sore and just wanted to be home with her dog and snuggled up in her warm expensive bed, like this hadn't happened to her. She glanced between her fingers to see him leaning in the car and working to lodge her foot out without injuring her anymore. She took that moment to look him over and couldn't help as her eyes took in every part of his figure. Her body suddenly felt hot and her mind started to darken before she realized where she was and that this guy still hadn't exactly earned her trust. He was some stranger who'd made a random call to supposed authorities who hadn't shown up yet. She watched as he achieved his goal and then slowly stood up, only to lean forward and slip his arms around her, one around her waist and the other around her legs in a firm grip, proceeding to pull her out of the hot mess that was once her beautiful Bedelia, the sleek black BMW M3 coupe that she'd bought with her first gallery show money. It had been her baby and some random asshole had destroyed it. Sloane sniffled and started crying all over again while also feeling her body want to react to the man that was carrying her up to his own vehicle. Her brain couldn't tell her body enough that this wasn't the time or place. She leaned into his shoulder and cried, finally giving into it to allow some sort of reprieve from all the pent up frustration.

“That asshole killed Bedelia. She was my baby. And now she's gone. She was so beautiful and fast. And I had so many beautiful features in her. God fucking damn it. Why can't I have nice things? And I'm so sorry for getting blood all over your hot ass three-piece suit that probably costs as much as my dog.” she sobbed, shaking and hating how tonight had gone.

Hannibal had to process at first that Bedelia was indeed the car, and a bit of a weird name for a car. And the fact that the sobbing woman in his arms had named her car in the first place. He had to give a small laugh as she apologized about his suit and complimented it at the same time. As he sat her in the driver's side a police car and two other vehicles pulled up close from behind. The first out to him and the weeping Sloane was a curly brown haired man with eyes to match hidden behind glass that didn't match much of anything. He had a blanket in hand and held it out to Hannibal who wrapped it around the fair haired woman, leaning down to speak to her, taking her chin gently.

“Miss Sloane, this is Agent Graham, he's here to talk to you about what happened and will help you get through the police report. I'm going to go help my friends look at your car.” he said, using the tone that she secretly hated and kind of liked at the same time. She gave a small nod, wiping at her face to get some of the blood off.

Sloane and Will watched as Hannibal walked off with a group of three people down to her car with a police officer quickly following after them, grumbling something under his breath. Sloane finally tore her eyes away from the man and looked to the bespectacled fellow in front of her. Will crouched down to be at eye level.

“You can just call me Will. It's a good thing Hannibal found you when he did. You might've been in a lot worse condition. Oh, you're shaking.” he seemed to say, almost to himself and reaching forward to wrap the blanket tighter around Sloane as she hadn't even noticed she was shivering and shaking, which she could apparently do at the same time. “Alright, do you want to give me a rundown of the events?” he asked in a calm voice. He didn't sound patronizing as much as he just sounded like he understood somehow. The woman gulped and gave a small nod.

“Er, yeah. I was driving home from another gallery opening with my work in it a good few hours south of Baltimore and I guess the gallery went over time, which isn't a problem but- sorry, I'll get back on the subject. I was just driving and making sure the roads in front of me were clear, cause puddles mean hydroplaning and that's just a barrel of monkeys on its own. Some person, I didn't see exactly, well, much of anything. I just saw lights out of nowhere and then they hit me without even a hint of brake. I went and spun out into a tree and they continued driving...” she finished, realizing how unhelpful her description was.

This caused a painful groan to make its way from inside of her throat as her head drooped down. “I'm sorry, all I know is, is that I'm pretty sure he was drunk. Or this week's Jeffrey Dahmer.” she noticed him wince out of the corner of her eye and clenched her teeth, feeling a bit bad for what she'd said. He must've been one of the people who worked on all those crazy cases. “Sorry, that was super uncouth of me to say... I'm just really pissed off and messed up right now. I honestly wasn't sure about Dr. Lecter being honest until all of you showed up.” she muttered, hoping that it actually amounted to a decent apology, although using the word uncouth might've sounded insincere to almost anyone who didn't use the word.

Will stroked her hair out of instinct, wanting to comfort the slightly hysteric woman in some way as she dabbed at the tears on her face. The police officer made his way towards the two, catching their attention as he gave an affirmative to someone on the other side of his radio. His whole body seemed to droop as if to say, _I don't get paid enough for this shit._

“A few miles down the guy who hit ya pulled off into a gas station. His papers, along with himself, are gone, I’m afraid. We’ll catch him though. The paint on his bumper matches your car... Jesus, are you sure you don't need an ambulance?” He suddenly asked, seeing all the blood on her hands and face, taking a small step back, professionalism disappearing for a moment. Great, more to worry about.

Hannibal appeared by his side and clasped a hand onto the officer's shoulder.

“It's mostly surface wounds so she will be fine. A bit of bruising, but that's about it. The car though, I am sorry Miss Sloane.” his words caused the woman to start crying loudly again, making the police officer a bit uncomfortable.

The officer looked to Will, not really wanting to fill out the report next to a woman covered in her own blood and who didn't seem to be able to stop crying for five minutes. The dark haired male bent down in front of her sighed and offered a hand to take the report and fill it out for him, the officer gladly handing him the clip board and walking back to his patrol car to radio in about the victim of the accident. The older gentleman gave a small cough and held out a small envelope, his other hand clutching a red suit case.

“I was able to get your insurance papers and your suitcase. With how late it is... I can offer a spare bedroom to you and a hot shower.” he said, using the soft tone that was beginning to get to Sloane.

She looked up at him with mascara and blood mixed under her eyes in a way that made her look like she'd walked out of a horror movie. She watched Will take the envelope from her to fill out the police report. Sloane wanted to tell him to just speak to her in a normal tone but at the same time she wasn't sure if he was capable. Now she just felt a bit rude.

“I would hate to burden you anymore than I have-”

“It's perfectly fine Meredith.” he said, trying to be nice, not realizing what he'd just done.

Sloane turned to stone as she looked to the older gentleman with dark eyes, her skin prickling. “No offense Mr. Lecter, but your gentle tone is a bit patronizing and the next time you say the name Meredith in my presence, don't expect to still have a trace of a tongue in your skull.” her tone dripped with malice as if a switch had been flipped inside.

Both men had a look of pure unadulterated shock on their face as the trio who'd been looking at her car came up to join the party, hearing the last bit and looking to Hannibal as if he'd committed some form of treason against the young woman. Hannibal quickly amended his expression and nodded his head in understanding.

“I apologize Miss Sloane., it won't happen again” he said in a tone to everyone else that sounded apologetic but to Sloane sounded more like some sort of challenge.

Her mother's voice poked in her head, telling her to pick her battles. She eased herself down and looked to the ground.

“I apologize, that was rude of me. You didn't know any better, and you've been nothing but helpful. If it weren't for you I might have been in a worse state than I am now. Thank you Dr. Lecter, but you really don't have to house me.” she said in a much softer tone from before, causing everyone to calm down,

Will looked at her as if she were some kind of anomaly instead, but quickly shielding that expression before anyone else could see it. He put a hand on her shoulder and tried to give her an encouraging look.

“No need to worry about imposing. It is the least I can do in this situation when one needs help. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you, as the old saying goes.” Lecter said, giving her a third and final offer.

Sloane felt her shoulders stiffen as she realized the situation she was in. To refuse once or twice was polite and simply customary, but to refuse a third time was rude. She was sitting around a circle of strangers who knew nothing about her, and a part of her wanted to keep it like that. Especially the psychiatrist... Her shoulders slinked down as she pushed her hand through her hair again and her grey eyes went to meet his.

 **  
** “You've worn me down.” she said in resolve, the tension in the air dissolving as she did.


	2. To Sleep Perchance To Fuck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of backstory and then some.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda smutty? Not a lot, like foreplay level smut, so nothing serious.

 

The forensic team introduced themselves to her before leaving, the one female of the three sticking out to her the most as she made sure to be extra sweet to her. She cooperated on filling out the paperwork to the best of her ability, sometimes having to ask for one of the males to reach inside her purse for her to get this paper or that. Will gave her his phone number to let him know that everything was fine and to just keep in touch. They all seemed so genuine and concerned, all so different from the ever calm Dr. Lecter. Most of the drive was silent as it was mainly Sloane trying to dry up what cuts were still bleeding and decipher the man's intentions for offering her somewhere to stay. The silence felt almost deafening as she went over all the possibilities in her head. Maybe he was just a sincere person, maybe he felt obligated to be the person to help her out. Mostly she wondered if he was someone she could trust.

 

“If you keep gazing at me like that I may worry that I need to sleep with one eye open,” he suddenly joked, causing Sloane to make a small sound. She did not think he had noticed her looking at him. Her cheeks turned red under the dried blood as she looked forward.

 

“Sorry.”

 

“You've nothing to apologize for. I am a complete stranger who is allowing you in his home with no strings attached. I would be suspicious as well in your shoes. Forgive my curiosity, but you mentioned a psychiatrist earlier and then told Will you had a gallery opening tonight?” He probed gently, but straight to the deep end.

 

Sloane dredged out a sigh and adjusted a vent to blast heat on her to avoid answering him right away.

 

“I've spent the past few days in Washington DC. I'm a sculptor, someone wanted me to do some marble sculptures for an exhibit on forgotten Gods. So the few days I was down there were spent setting up the gallery and fighting over beginning bidding prices. My last day there I went and had lunch with my psychiatrist since she was curious about my exhibit and also didn't want to skip our weekly session. So it was a mix of work and personal business,” she muttered, hoping he didn't probe any further.

 

“But that's only a little over an hour away. And I believe I heard you tell Will you'd been driving for a few hours?” Fuck.

 

She wanted to punch him for knowing that. That agent hadn't asked specifics about where she was coming from.

 

“I fucked one of the patrons at the event. He and I had a rather colorful discussion about the lost city Atlantis and some of his own studies on it and then he bought one of my sculptures. Apparently he has a thing for mermaids... But I didn't want to exactly stay the night so I left after he fell asleep and left a note saying thank you and leaving my number for if he wanted any custom sculptures. I'm prone to mixing business and pleasure when it comes to my shows.” She grunted the last bit out, displeased about airing some of her dirty laundry, but hoping some crass language would put an end to the questions.

 

Sloane looked to Hannibal expecting a laugh or a disappointed shake of the head but there was nothing. She wondered if this was the true Dr. Lecter, the one who didn't react or if it was a mask.

 

“Is that what you see a psychiatrist for? If I am pushing too much you can stop me at any time,” he tried to reassure her, but she couldn't find herself to truly believe that.

 

It wasn't as if she'd probably see him after tonight anyway.

 

“Sort of. I see her for a lot of things. But she believes I have nymphomania that is linked to my empathy. Something along the lines of ‘when I build a shared emotion that I push the boundaries so that I can, in a way, live through their emotions to try and find happiness.’” She emphasized her shrinks words with constant quotations.

 

“I just think I like sex and attractive people. And the thing about my first name... my step-father used to call me that. He'd always use a patronizing tone and my name to make sure I knew he was focused on me to say that it was for my own good that he broke everything I created. He thought if he destroyed what he didn't think was good enough, I'd get better. It was one of my first shows when I was in high school. He'd somehow gotten drunk when no one was looking and well, on the drive home he killed himself and nearly me.

 

“My mother never forgave herself and so I never trusted her opinion or words. It was like they were just to comfort me because she hadn't stopped the man she swore she loved over my father from nearly destroying me like he did my art... It's really stupid tragic back story shit, but once I got to college, she wanted me to start seeing someone. So, I started seeing Dr. Bordenson. She's tried to put me on medicine to lower my libido but I refuse to take it. The only times I feel passion are during sex or when I'm working on a piece. And the only true love I've found and not doubted is in my dog, Atlas. So I guess I'm just a Type A case of nymphomania.” She grumbled and trailed off, realizing they'd been sitting in front of a house for a while now.

 

Sloane stopped talking to see Hannibal had been listening. He'd been watching her and all her facial expressions and body language. From the tensing of her shoulders and mentioning of her step-father to the cold expressions when talking about her mother and then the embarrassed far away look about the few things she did enjoy. Her cheeks burned as she looked out the passenger window. She'd just spilled her whole life sob story to some random psychiatrist who made her hot and bothered but she couldn't bring herself to even look in the eye because of how inappropriate he made her feel.

 

“Sorry, didn't mean to blab so much,” she apologized sincerely, wishing she'd just lied or not told him anything.

 

“It is perfectly alright. Think of it as catharsis. One usually finds relief in releasing their frustrations to a stranger since they have no one to tell,” he said in a normal tone making Sloane sigh in relief that he wasn't talking to her like a wounded animal anymore.

 

He was totally psychoanalyzing her though and it was why she hadn't wanted to share. With psychiatrists it was as if they saw right through any mask you put on. And now that she'd basically given him the rundown of what makes her a basket case she felt claustrophobic, as if he might find out even more about her that not even she knew within the small space of the car. Her head jerked as she heard him getting out of the car causing her to hiss and grab her neck. Yup, definitely too soon for that, and not ready to react like a broken hinge until after a hot shower. Sloane watched him go to the back door and get her suitcase out, watching how delicate he was with her items. She couldn't help but stare at his practiced hands and sure motions. It was like watching some obscure porn for her where even the strangest thing seemed to distract or arouse her attention. Her eyes followed him as he came around to the passenger side of the car and opened the door for her. She found herself following him wordlessly with her things into this stranger's home without much rebuttal or snarky retort.

 

Sloane followed him up the stairs having not noticed he was talking, taking in the grand home that seemed to fit with the man in front of her. Nothing seemed surprising for him to own. It was as if everything was made to fit with him.

 

“And here is the guest room, there's a bathroom connected to it. I will make us some tea while you shower. Would you like me to wash your clothes as well? I'm sure you would like to be able to wear your coat tomorrow.” She tuned in at that and looked at him as if he were a piece of abstract art that she couldn't decipher.

 

“...sure, actually no. I hate hot drinks. It's a weird thing, sorry. Could I just get some fruit juice and advil?” She knew how much of a child she must have sounded then, but couldn’t help it.

 

She finally got a chuckle out of him as he put her suitcase down in the room and nodded his head.

 

“Of course,” he said with a bemused expression before leaving the room.

 

Sloane looked around for a moment before realizing just how cold she really was and how much the clothes were sticking to her. She shut the door finally, giving into need over want. The woman began shedding her clothing, tossing the blanket down first and making a pile of her soaked and bloody clothes. Hopefully they wouldn't stain too bad. She really was lucky to have a change of clothes period at this point. It suddenly crossed her mind that maybe her roommate would be concerned and she slipped out her phone and sent a text message before tossing her phone on the bed and finally heading to the bathroom to see the damage. She would've screamed if she hadn't been expecting it, but she definitely looked worse than she'd hoped. Sloane looked at the bruise forming on her shoulder from her seatbelt and her knees which both looked like she'd been hitting the pole a little too hard, granted she wasn't actually a stripper she'd just been friends with some in college.

 

Her hands didn't look nearly as bad as she'd been worried they'd be and they could still work but she'd definitely need to use some peroxide or the like after she cleaned off all the dried blood. She made her way over to the rather extravagant standing shower that was next to a rather large tub. This was a guest room? Her guest room had a normal bath with a built in shower head... Finally Sloane settled on definitely using the shower since she didn't want to lay in a bath of her own blood. On both wrists was unfortunately airbag burn that stung like hell fire was licking each one at the same time. She frowned as she turned on the water none the less to allow it to heat up, returning to the mirror to torture herself a bit more. There were a couple of cuts on her left cheek from the glass, but luckily nothing too severe. Her hair had streaks of dried blood in it from her raking her hands through which she could only really blame herself for. Retreating to her bag she pulled out the shampoo and conditioner tubes inside a zipper and grabbed her soap since she was very keen on sticking to her own products.

 

Sloane tested the water and was happy to find hot, steamy water to cover herself in and wash away the cold night. She stepped in fully and took in the wondrous feeling of hot water washing away the cold that had locked in her bones and the blood that had started to congeal and dry on her body. She ran her hands through her hair happily, washing away any trace of blood. It all felt so amazing and overpowering in a way that she never wanted to leave this spot or moment. All the aches she was worried about seemed to slip away for the moment. Shampooing her hair felt like a much needed massage for her head as she washed away all the troubles that sat in her stomach from earlier. Sloane seemed to forget where she was, humming as she washed her hair and body, getting rid of as much evidence of the accident on her body as she could. She didn't hear the bedroom door open or footsteps to the bathroom. She reached to turn off the water and then pulled the shower curtain aside to see Hannibal in nothing but his suit pants and his button-up shirt, a few buttons undone.

 

The woman felt her breath hitch in her throat, a  scream frozen in her lungs as she saw him holding a towel.

 

“I came to help. I did say I would take care of you tonight,” he said in that soothing dulcet tone of his that made her body light up like a firework.

 

“Oh...” she muttered, feeling like this must be the string attached.

 

Of course he would want sex in return, that's only normal. And with how she'd talked earlier it probably wouldn't be hard to believe that she'd give it to him.

 

Hannibal took one of her arms in his hand and began to slowly and gingerly dry it off, working his way up her arm and along her shoulders, wrapping the towel around her whole body. Wait, was this sex he was wanting or some sort of weird tease? A test maybe? Her mind blanked as he began moving his hands along her body over the towel, drying her skin for her and making her body feel even hotter than it had before. Suddenly all her questioning and doubt slipped away, being replaced by pure unadulterated want. Her body craved for him to push further. Her mind turned off as she looked at him to see his eyes watching her, like he had in the car. She was overwhelmed as her legs felt weak, his face was so close to hers, but it felt so far away. It was as if he'd read her mind and he leaned down to place a kiss on her cheek, right over her scratch. She shivered, leaning into him, feeling needy and hot, her damp hair clinging to her neck and arms. Had he been so tall? She couldn't remember if she'd paid attention to that or not. His lips trailed down to her neck and a small moan rasped it's way out of her lips. _Fuck_. The towel dropped to the floor as his hands moved to her waist, thumbs pushing small circles into her hips as she was forced not to buck into him, held in place by his mouth and hands.

 

Sloane felt as if she was going to melt underneath him as she moaned softly. How had she gone from a car wreck to possibly having sex with a man who was probably old enough to be her father. _Fuck_. That just made it hotter that he was so much older... His tongue traced along her collarbone as he nipped at her skin gently, his hands keeping her in place. Another _fuck_ slipped out of her mouth as she wanted to pounce him then and there. Hannibal looked up into her eyes with such a dominating look that her face turned as red as a cherry. This stranger was going to be the end of her.

 

“Miss Sloane, I do believe I've caught you in quite a compromising position,” he whispered into her skin.

 

She blushed harder and looked away, closing her eyes in embarrassment. One hand went to slide between her legs and then suddenly that hand felt like her own. His mouth and other hand were gone from hers. She felt lukewarm water hitting her legs as her eyes opened up to realize she was in the shower, touching herself, in a stranger's house.

 

She'd.... she'd hallucinated the whole thing...

 

The woman pulled her hand away to find it soaked in her own juices and felt almost relieved that there was no chance of the man she'd just imagined having actually caught her in the act. Sloane washed her hands and was happy she'd actually finished cleaning herself, she just wasn't sure when she started hallucinating and how much time it had taken up. She reached forward and cut off the water, stepping out and seeing the big fluffy towel on the edge of the tub and swiped it, wrapping herself up in the soft material happily with a little coo.

 

Plopping on the bed made her realize how tired she was. It had been a long day and an even longer night than she'd anticipated. Sloane slowly dried off, pushing the fantasy out of her brain from earlier and pulling out a clean pair of underwear and a t-shirt to wear since all of her nightgowns, if you could call them that, were hilariously inappropriate. Something felt off as she looked around the room to see a clean floor before it dawned on her that Hannibal had come in at some point and gotten the wet pile of clothes and blanket she'd thrown down. Horror overcame her as she wondered exactly when he'd come in...

 

Surely he would have said something if he had caught her masturbating in his shower... Or maybe he had come in while she was still in the midst of washing off all the blood... She groaned as she pulled herself off the bed and headed for the door, pulling it open and walking out. The only way to know is to find out at this point. Her thought process was as unforgiving to her as ever. She usually kept her shit together at other people's houses unless they were indeed someone she was sleeping with.

 

The walk to find the kitchen was painful on her as all the aches and pains from earlier were back and tripled in their efforts. Much to her luck and chagrin, she could hear Hannibal in the kitchen, probably making tea. Her steps were apparently quieter than she'd thought as she made her way into the lit up kitchen and she pulled out a chair, apparently surprising the man as he hadn't heard her come in. She flopped her head on the counter and made a low and drawn out groan. That walk to the kitchen had taken more out of her than she would have preferred.

 

“Everything. Hurts,” she managed to grump out, not lifting her head from the table.

 

A small sigh, probably of pity came from Hannibal as he sat a glass down next to her and a couple of tablets of pain medication.

 

“Thank you for your patronage,” she grumbled, lifting her head up and shoveling the tablets into her mouth and gulping down half the glass of what tasted like hand squeezed orange juice.

 

Her eyes looked to him slowly as he'd been watching her with a cup of tea in hand.

 

“I am guessing the pain and bruises are starting to come in. I hope that helps,” he said in a very straight-forward tone.

 

Well, her hallucination hadn't been wrong on his height... damn it. She laid her head back down on the cool marble and looked up at him, pouting.

 

“I swear to every god in creation, you and my psychiatrist are so heartless. Well, at least you aren't a serial killer...” she muttered, closing her eyes before pulling them open as she heard the man nearly choke on his tea, spilling some onto the counter.

 

“Well, that's kind of you to say,” he managed, blotting at his mouth with a napkin. Her eyes raked over his lips as she made a small sound of admonishment. Why? She didn't know, but she was probably doing it to herself.

 

“I had a boyfriend break up with me because I wanted to have sex too much and he called it being needy and a freak,” she mumbled, closing her eyes again. “I told him he was a sociopath and was glad I wasn’t his victim type before I left.”

 

Hannibal watched her for a moment before putting his tea down. She heard the cup touch the counter and the footsteps circle around to where she was splayed out.

 

“You need sleep, Miss Sloane,” he said, bravely choosing to just pick her up this time, not even asking, which she didn't get onto him about at this point because for once he was right and she wasn't going to try and hide it.

 

Her head lolled onto his shoulder as she yawned and her arms looped around his neck. Her breath even and brushing his neck as she was almost on the peak of going to sleep. For once, it didn't take thirty minutes for some pills to actually do their job, and there were no complaints. Hannibal laid her down in the bed and tucked her into it, moving her phone over to the night stand. He turned to go before a hand reached out and pulled onto his arm.

 

“Hannibal?”

 

“Mm?”

 

“Please just call me... mmm, Sloane... 'm sorry for sayin’ I'd... take your tongue. ‘s a pretty tongue,” she managed to get out before exhaustion and the medicine finally overcame her.

  
She didn't see it but a small smile decorated his face as he nodded before leaving the room.


	3. Alas Poor Dignity, I Knew You Well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's an interrogation! Not really. Nothing too extreme here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I own no one except for Sloane, her dog, her roommate and her psychiatrist. Hope you enjoy.

As the morning dawned Sloane finally understood what those stuffy English majors meant when they wrote “feeling like you’d been hit by a train”. All she could think about besides the ache covering her body was the fact that she was lucky her car insurance was so good.

At the moment Sloane was laid in bed staring blankly up at the ceiling. It was a Saturday so she'd probably have to get a rental car to last her until she found a replacement for her precious M3, Bedelia. Her roommate had texted avidly for about an hour that morning, just happy she was ok and asking about the stranger until said roommate had realized it was time for work. Sloane had heard little to no sound of a waking house, so she guessed she’d probably exhausted the poor man with keeping him up so late to take care of her.

As these thoughts played back in her head Sloane played the events of the last eighteen hours in her head. Was the good doctor drunk? Or was it deliberate? Maybe he was some crazed convict escaped from an institution somewhere. She felt a little silly and turned over onto her right side, pressing the side of her face into the pillow with a small groan. Her dreams were a mix of bright lights, trees and Dr. Lecter...naked.

None of it made sense to her, but she didn't want to go back to sleep either. Her eyes looked towards the window as she considered just sitting in that gorgeous bath she'd seen in the bathroom.

She rationalized to herself that it would be good for her and that she probably wouldn't be interrupted anytime soon. It took all of her strength to pull herself from the bed and stand up; making it to the bathroom felt like a ten mile hike at this point. Turning on the water, Sloane made quick work of her clothes to be on the bathroom sink as she filled up the tub and used some random soap she'd found in a small cabinet next to the bathtub. It smelled like lavender and made her think of simpler days when she was much younger. When the tub was filled she put up her hair into a bun and then slipped into the tub with a long sigh. The water slid over every surface of her skin and welcomed her in a warm embrace as her muscles began to relax again. Her phone played _“La Vie en Rose” by Edith Piaf_ in the bathroom. The mellow tones bounced off the walls and floor to envelop the room and remind her of France. It also took her mind off the night before.

 

Sloane never heard the knock or opening of the bathroom door as Dr. Lecter came in with a tray of poached eggs and some breakfast sausage with a tall glass of orange juice. A tray that was nearly dropped out of his hands as he realized he'd walked in on Sloane in the bath.

She did hear the small clatter of the tray and its contents.

With the surprising noise came a wrenched neck and burning cheeks as she turned to see just what caused the clattering.

“Oh... breakfast in bed?” She asked, unsure what to make of the situation. Both parties were caught off guard as she suddenly felt very bashful for the first time in nearly ten years.

“That was the intention. I believed it would help with the news I bring,” he said solemnly, souring the morning even more. “I see you appreciate Edith Piaf?” He asked, trying to lighten the mood.

“Yes,” she started, fighting the blush off her face. “A patron in France made love to me while we listened to her in his flat. It was... quite a fun tryst.” She traced the edge of the bath as she spoke, not quite able to meet Dr. Lecter’s assessing gaze.

“Do you always carry a story behind your quirks?” He asked as he put the toilet seat down, sitting near her with the tray on the floor before him.

She took the glass of orange juice he offered her and sat up a bit, though not so far as to reveal anything intimate. When had she grown so modest? In a matter of hours?

“Probably... If you're weirded out by my sex stories you can say so,” she amended, looking to him over the glass of orange juice as if it might shield her from some divine judgement.

“Miss Sloane, I am a psychiatrist. Your sexuality and stories of such are nothing I do not listen to daily. It is only fortunate that your proclivities tend to be of a healthier nature than those of my patients.”

“Mmm, I don’t think acceptance and a nice orgasm make my fantasies any healthier,” she retorted, placing the glass on the floor and sinking back into the bath, remembering her little hallucinated foreplay.

Her hands awkwardly laid on each side of the tub as she wasn't sure what to do with them at the moment. What was she to do with her hands that wouldn’t be construed as suspicious when this man watched her bathe? Most people who knew of her condition assumed every minute they didn't see her hands meant she must be touching herself.

They sat in silence for a few moments, Edith Piaf crooning in the background. Sloane trying not to look as embarrassed as she felt and Dr. Lecter watching her with a look of concern. She finally forced herself to look at the older gentleman, the two opening their mouths to speak at the same time before Sloane shut hers quickly, earning her a chuckle from the other man.

“My apologies, proceed,” he offered, folding his hands together neatly.

The woman fought with herself for a moment, unsure of what to say. She was going to ask why he looked like someone just shot his dog, but that may sound a little crass to him, so she settled for a generic question.

“Is something wrong?” Still unsure of herself as she asked.

The look she was given made her feel concern and like she wanted to sink under the water.

“I am afraid I have some bad news. My colleagues and I were suspicious last night, but I did not wish to scare you anymore than you already were until we were sure.We believe the accident last night matches the modus operandi of recent deaths in this area. The man who hit you last night has surfaced as a serial killer who kills artists. He has done so for weeks now. Will Graham believes the killer tracks his victims for a few days, memorizes your schedule and, when the time comes, drives his victims off the roadway. He drives off then returns for you as a good samaritan. If you were not already dead he would have done so, harvested a few choice organs, then used the rest of them to make a show of you. Will kept this to himself in case he was wrong, but your mention of the art show has him convinced. While he is not at liberty to tell you these things, I am not under such strict silencers. I thought you should be aware of this targeting while in my presence, where any help could be given.” Hannibal stopped speaking then, seeing the look on Sloane's face.

Her expressions had been a transition from bad to worse. What started out as concern and fear had slowly melted into horror. She tried to recall anyone suspicious in her mind that could be targeting her. Anyone at her shows or local galleries that carried her work. It wouldn't have been a returning client, she hoped, but that was always a possibility.

Suddenly the water did nothing for her aches and pains as her mind reeled back to the accident with no halting steps. Her grip on the side of the tub beginning to slip slowly. It was like being in your own horror film. She was no longer in the bathtub but stuck in her own car again. She could see the tree that had basically cut right through the middle of her car, almost to where she was.

Hannibal saw the scared, far away look before he noticed her hands loosening their grip. When her body started to slide more into the tub he quickly moved from his position, knocking over the glass of orange juice and grabbed her by the waist, not caring for his sleeves as he pulled Sloane up from under the water. She yowled, pulled from her episode as he'd grabbed her bruised side unknowingly. She pushed back, managing to hit her back on the tub to try and hoist her own self out, panting. The exchange took less than a second, but the seconds following felt like hours as they looked at each other, the arms of his shirt now soaked and a little sudsy, hands still holding her sides as she looked at him. She was unsure of herself and how to handle what was now uncomfortable and terrifying at the same time.

Sloane felt a mixture of want and terror as she felt how large his hands were in comparison to her torso. He could snap her rib cage and she couldn't tell if she'd yell in pain or ecstasy. The moment ended quickly as his hands moved back to his own personal space and he rolled up his sleeves, making a small sound. Sloane realized the cold air on her breasts were because they were available for anyone to suddenly see and she flushed, arms staunch.

“I apologize for giving you such information so abruptly. I will leave you to your breakfast and have a fresh cup of juice for you. Come down when you're ready,” Hannibal informed her before promptly leaving the bathroom.

Sloane wanted to scream and kick at the situation. She'd never felt the need to restrain herself from someone, especially a stranger; but, for the new information, she wouldn't be able to simply disappear from his life right away. There was a mixture of joy and chagrin that knotted up her stomach as she moved her foot to pull the plug on the now lukewarm water. Bath time was definitely over. She extracted herself from the tub, painful though it was. As she wheezed out a breath she looked at the mess on the floor where a perfectly good glass of orange juice once sat. Luckily, the glass itself hadn't broken. As she leaned down to pick it up her thoughts now circled around what Dr. Lecter had told her. Someone wanted her dead and she had no idea who they were, but they seemed to know exactly where she came and went... and there was no telling what else they knew about her at this point.

Sloane forced herself back into her normal, meticulous morning routine after cleaning up the orange juice and placing the glass onto the bathroom sink. It was almost like clockwork, easy to slip back into for the moment, not allowing for any stress to disrupt her rote motions.

She'd received a text from Will that he and two associates would be arriving at Dr. Lecter's home within the hour. If she tried hard enough she could imagine it was like a hotel room, complete with awkward room service. Reaching back, Sloane began braiding her hair from the crown of her head and down over shoulder to rest below where her breasts fell. She pulled on a pair of panties and a bra that matched up nicely, not like anyone would see to appreciate them today.

Her bangs fell over her forehead, a chunk of hair falling over the edge of her cheek where the cut was. It was too deep for makeup to hide. Sloane pulled on a simple pair of black tights, a grey tweed skirt and a black blouse that billowed softly around her chest yet hugged her small waist. She tucked the hem into the high-waisted skirt that dusted her knees. Her bruises and anything else that could be unsightly were covered by the long, tight sleeves with buttons at the cuffs. She may have been a slutty artist but she could pull off a sexy business woman if she wanted to.

As a soft pink lipstick traced over her lips Sloane heard her phone tinkle happily as she made her way over to the plugged in device to see Will Graham's name on the screen. She didn't want to face the truth just yet. She just wanted to act like it hadn't happened, but there wasn't much room for avoidance at this point.

“This is Sloane,” she answered the phone with an apprehensive tone.

“Hey, I hope I'm not bothering you but we're here and Hannibal seemed a little apprehensive to retrieve you. Is everything alright?”

Was everything alright? She wanted to bark a laugh and scream at the same time. Sloane took a moment to breathe and hold her tongue. She did not want to admit to earlier transgressions, nor  let her tongue run away from her lest anyone worry about her mental state more than they already did.

“He just told me about the guy who hit me last night being a serial killer and I didn't exactly take it well...” Sloane wanted to just run to her studio, hide and work away her frustrations. “I'll be down in a moment.” And with that she hung up, closing her eyes to gather her sanity once more.

She left her bags where they were and slipped the phone into her bra before heading down the stairs to find Will and Dr. Lecter speaking to two other people. A woman with raven black hair who looked about Will's age and a man with a much darker and older complexion who was much closer in age to the Doctor. They all looked to her and she wanted to freeze, but instead plastered a small smile on her lips and nodded to them. The one in the black suit and hardened expression stepped forward first holding out a hand to her.

“Detective Jack Crawford, you're Mer- er, I mean, Sloane Flemming I presume.” He used a tone that Sloane wasn't sure was a question or a statement.

She took his hand firmly and shook it with a small nod, his eyes not missing the scars on her hands or the one on her cheek she'd tried to hide.

“I've brought Dr. Alana Bloom with me as well so that she can help in case there's anything about the suspect you're having trouble remembering,” he said calmly, clearly giving Sloane no option.

She took the woman in and groaned internally. She knew her type was like candy for a psychiatrist and there seemed to be ample amount of them all of a sudden. The woman shook her hand with a slightly suspicious light in her eyes.

“I'm so sorry about what happened to you Miss Flemming.” Alana offered a condolence, shaking Sloane's hand.

“Pleasure,” Sloane managed stiffly, nodding to the woman.

Dr. Lecter led them to his dining room and everyone took a seat, though he insisted on holding out the chair at the head of the table for her. She wanted to decline but thought better of it. Instead she took the seat and tried to ignore his hands and the fact that he sat in a chair to her right. This was going to be a special kind of day. A terrible, awful frustrating special.

Jack began with asking her to recall the night before and if she'd seen anyone suspicious at the art gallery. Sloane played along, giving him the same story and answers as last night, thinking to herself that she was in desperate need of a tall glass of bourbon. Alana followed up with questions about what she remembered before Dr. Lecter had arrived on the scene.

Make that a bottle.

“Blackness, then some headlights... Searing pain and seeing red. Well, that was my blood of course. I... I honestly thought when Dr. Lecter showed up that he was the person who hit me, come to finish the job if I wasn't dead yet. It would have been just my luck, you know. I couldn't very much run, and if it weren't for him I would have probably stayed stuck and actually died. All that even before I knew that was the truth, but I do have a pessimistic, paranoid imagination.” Sloane laughed at herself. “I'm sure you'd find out more from my neighbor since she's been snooping around this whole thing. Crazy bitch is always yelling about some conspiracy or another,” she muttered, fingers tapping on the table in annoyance and the fiery redheaded witch.

“And your neighbor’s name is?” Jack butted in, everyone looked suspicious and unpleased at the same time.

A groan finally made it's way out of Sloane's mouth as she ran a hand through her bangs and brushing them back off to the side.

“Her name is Freddie Lounds and I swear to god how she hasn't been killed yet is beyond me,” she griped, glaring at some invisible force.

“I'm sorry, did you say your neighbor was Freddie Lounds?” Jack asked, sounding angry all of a sudden.

Sloane's head yanked up as she went rigid and a look of fear as she worried that she'd said something wrong. Dr. Lecter leaned over and put a hand on her arm to get her to settle down.

“It's alright, we just would prefer she not know what's happened to you and that you not say anything to her either,” he offered as some sort of explanation.

She could see Alana physically bristle and it clicked awkwardly into her brain that the woman was not as upset about her neighbor as the others. She pulled her arm away from Dr. Lecter's hold knowingly. His hand left a hot spot under her skin that distracted her momentarily before her eyes looked back up to the group.

“I avoid the woman if I can help it. My roommate and I think she's a total- well, yeah. But I'll make him keep his mouth shut as well.” Her eyes looked over the table as ideas formed in her head and solidified as she looked at Will. “Wait, she's written about you before. You're the guy who can empathize with serial killers- it's cool though, my empathy just makes me sleep with strangers, shit!” Sloane slapped a hand over her mouth as she turned red, almost everyone at the table now looking at her with wide eyes.

“I'm sorry?” Alana glanced to Hannibal and then back to her.

Will settled on looking concerned for her and Jack was just confused and trying to process what she said. A long groan settled itself in her mind before she gave up. They'd probably talk to her psychiatrist anyway to try and find out if there might be something there, that much was obvious.

“I have a form of nymphomania that stems from me seeking emotional passion from those that praise me and my work. I'm a sculptor, I don't mean- well, anyway. No worries, the car accident has me kind of keeping my hands to myself,” she said, feeling a bit catty for the last part but she looked at Alana, making sure the other woman heard her loud and clear.

Will looked like he pitied her as the other woman began psychoanalyzing her too. He tried moving on by describing the killer.

“Well, from what I've gathered he thinks he's doing these victims a service. He feels it's a declaration of love-”

“So you're saying he immortalizes them like they do with their own art,” Sloane interrupted.

“Yes, that's exactly it. How did you-?”

“I'm an artist. He's a killer of artists and makes them into an art piece? It's clear, he thinks he's doing them a service as you said. Like a hair dresser does hair for others but can't do their own? He wants to help them reach their Piece De Resistance, including them in the piece. Immortalizing them like they do with moments in time or people. He wants to help them achieve their highest potential and... Why are you all looking at me as if I grew a second head?” Sloane came to a halting stop, seeing everyone look at her as if she'd found the last golden ticket.

“You figured all that out... on your own?” Jack asked slowly.

She looked at him as if he were dumb and sighed, rubbing her temples.

“You should be familiar with a crime of passion. Art is based on passion. That and I may have googled Freddie's site to see what she'd said on the murders after Dr. Lecter informed me I was a victim of his, not that she's exactly a genius. But even I can figure out why someone would make art of an artist. Four years of art school taught me some things,” she shrugged as if it were common knowledge.

“And you live next to Freddie Lounds?” Alana piped in while Will seemed to be gawking and Jack was stunned into silence.

“Well, a loft is only so big, technically she's on a different floor, but might as well be my neighbor with how often I see her in the elevator and lobby,” she corrected, pulling her phone from her bra and checking to see if she had any texts or emails from clients.

She ignored the whispers and glances as if she weren't sitting right there and checked through the email, tapping a finger on the table as she slid her finger over the screen going over a mini checklist in her head when she noticed an e-mail from last night’s lay. Maybe today could get better if it involved a commision. Her mood peaked, though, as she opened it and saw he was only asking for a _date_ _and some wine_. She frowned and decided to just ignore it and move on.

Sloane heard chairs move and glanced up to see Jack Crawford say something to Will before looking to her.

“We're going to keep someone with you as much as possible. If he knows enough about you, he may make another attempt on your life. I'm sorry, you won't be getting rid of any of us any time soon,” he said before looking to Hannibal and Will. “I hope I'm leaving her in capable hands?”

Sloane was beginning to understand how Detective Crawford worked and forced herself not to make a face and walked over to him, holding out her hand, putting on a thankful, doting smile.

“Thank you so much Detective Crawford. I hope you catch him soon, and if there's anything else I can do to help... well, I'm sure you will find a way to get a hold of me,” she said with a small laugh, eyes gleaming to the man.

“Uh, yes. Of course.” Jack shook her hand before leaving with Alana who didn't seem too interested in continuing much of a conversation.

Sloane made a disgusted face as everyone was facing away from her and headed back to the room where her things were to put it all together. She did her best to make the room look as if she hadn't even been in there. Walking into the bathroom she saw the empty glass from this morning and looked into the mirror, placing her hands on the side of the sink. She took a deep breath and rolled her shoulders back, remembering the tight grip of Hannibal's hands on her waist. It was like flashes of heat shooting through her nerves as she rolled back her neck and sighed. A small primal moan slipped through her lips as her hips shifted backwards. Had it only been twelve hours since her last climax? Maybe she did have a problem. Her brow wrinkled as she whimpered and shifted from foot to foot, her heels clacking annoyedly. Maybe she would email the patron from last night to change his mind on a simple date in her studio or else she'd have to spend the night on her washing machine. Sloane let her eyes flutter open and the fantasy of those large knowing hands slip away.

“That bad, huh?”

The questioning voice made her nearly leap out of her skin. Instead she made a small screech of a noise that clawed out of her throat as she turned around to see Will looking at her with concern.

“The nymphomania empathy I mean... I've not really run into many with the condition in my lifetime, but I doubt it's as fun as teenagers like to think,” he tried to laugh, but it died in his throat as he saw the embarrassed look on her face. “Sorry. You probably don't want to talk about it.” He felt a bit ashamed.

Sloane shrugged and blew her bangs out of her eyes, sweeping them back into place.

“It's fine. I just usually get told it's an excuse to be a slut, or slag, depending on what country I'm in, heh. It's kind of nice to meet someone who sees it's an actual issue but doesn't treat it like a stigma, like I'm a bacteria on the face of purity,” she said, her tone almost reflective on some of her past experiences. “Or that it means I will automatically sleep with every man who walks past me. I do have standards.”

Their eyes met and Sloane gave a little shrug as Will tried to give her a supportive smile. She felt a small thing leap in her stomach and a heat in her belly as she stepped towards him for a moment and placed a hand on his arm.

“You're really sweet, I'd hate to take advantage of your kindness. And from the look Dr. Blooming Jealousy was giving me, she thought I was taking advantage of Dr. Lecter as well.” She gave a little laugh, rubbing his arm to try and make what she said less harsh.

It wasn't as if she didn't want to take advantage of the nice doctor, hell right now even Will seemed like the most appetizing scoop of dessert she'd seen with how sweet he was. Will adjusted his glasses, his cheeks being dusted with color as he made a small sound in his throat.

“I don't think you could take advantage of anyone as much as they'd take advantage of you,” his eyes now avoiding hers.

Sloane blushed and stepped back, feeling a bit bad and pulling her hands to herself, crossing her arms across her abdomen. “Sorry, I'm being flirty. It's a bad habit.”

He was so adorable and sweet that she wanted to eat him alive. Her grey eyes looked to the doorway as she hoped Dr. Lecter would interrupt them before she lost the ability to not pounce the poor man in front of her, but he never showed to rescue her this time. She gulped and pulled on her coat, slipping her purse onto her arm and turning to him with a cheery expression.

“Let's make haste, shall we? I have a rental car to pick up and a gallery to check on.” She tried to redirect herself by picking up her other two bags and heading for the doorway, hoping Will would follow after her.

 

Seeing Dr. Lecter waiting for them in the foyer in a three-piece suit made her heart drop to her stomach. Washing machine it would be.

 

“Miss Sloane, I do hope you're not opposed to staying here until the killer is caught. It has been discussed with Detective Crawford, and we believe it's the safest bet without making it obvious you have an escort. Of course you can get items that you may need from your apartment so you can continue to stay in my guest room. You can even accompany your dog here if you'd like, it is of no inconvenience.”

 

All of the bags she'd held with grace dropped to the floor in a heap.

 **  
**“Fucking hell.”


	4. Hell is Empty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little dive into more of the story. 
> 
> Just try not to get too bored.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own no one except for Sloane, Atlas, Basil and Tiffany.
> 
> Read and review, yes?

 Covering up her response had been a bit exhausting to Sloane. She was fighting with herself, doing everything she could to not come right out and say she wanted to take advantage of her considerate host. The ride to the car lot the insurance company told her to choose from was awkward. The car she chose was a bit bland for her personal tastes but it was a rental and Dr. Lecter said it'd be best to be as inconspicuous as possible. Silver and a Toyota Camry. I'll match every pair of grandparents in town, thanks. Her snark earned her a look of surprise from Will and nothing from Dr. Lecter. He was like a stone wall... Her eyes locked on his a couple of times and it felt like a contest of who would break first, although that was most likely all in her head. Sloane wasn't sure if she felt a little childish because of the people she was with or because she was just more upset about the issue at hand than she could admit even to herself.

While leaving with the new car Will rode with her so that just in case their group was split up, someone would have her back. The ride to her loft wasn't so bad now that she felt more comfortable talking to Will. Knowing one of her biggest secrets made it a little easier to talk to him since he didn't seem to be judging her for it too harshly.

Arriving at the complex, she parked, throwing her parking pass onto the dash before getting out and locking the car behind her and Will.

“Well, we made it here in one piece so I think you're doing pretty well,” he offered praise hoping to make her feel more comfortable about driving.

Sloane gave him a tired smile as she slid the key back into her purse, standing on the sidewalk to wait for their companion before looking to Will, realizing where she was about to take him.

“Oh... please don't judge me for anything you might see...” Her tone was tentative as she held up her hands, a little embarrassed.

“I'm not going to judge you for a... collection of toys,” he said, wording himself carefully as not to possibly insult her.

Sloane gave a little nervous laugh. He'd see what she meant. They always did.

Dr. Lecter finally walked up after a moment, looking between the two, curiosity hiding behind a neutral expression. She avoided making a face again and headed in, hoping to every god she'd ever sculpted that her 'neighbor' was nowhere around. They scuttled through the lobby and to the elevator pretty quickly, Sloane giving a small wave to an elderly woman who was checking her mail and headed straight into the elevator as it opened up, clicking for the top floor with her index finger. She hoped with all her might the elevator wouldn't stop on any of the prior floors before hers, fingers crossed in her pocket.

The ding was like a resounding physical relief for the woman as she stepped out into the hallway where there were only two doors, one on each side of the hall a few steps away.

“Just down here, it's the one on the left,” she said as if they really needed much explanation since she was walking straight for the door.

As Sloane slid her key into the lock she could hear paws scraping at the door excitedly and a small whimper. This put more fire into her as she'd missed her dog quite a bit. That and she'd been concerned the killer might have killed her dog and roommate when he’d missed his opportunity with her. Once the door sprang open an almost pure white wire fox terrier sprang from behind the door and hopped straight into her arms, licking her animatedly and barking. His snout was freckled with brown and black spots along with his ears and was about a little over a foot high, but the dog had quite a bit of energy. Sloane laughed, feeling a warmth in her chest as the dog greeted her in an excited manner.

“Oh I've missed you too boy. I was so scared I'd never get to see you again.” She laughed, scratching behind one of his ears, his little tail wagging at his owner happily.

“What about me you old hag?” Came a voice from inside the loft, causing her to look up and see a rather tall albeit thin and effeminate man with a pair of ruby glasses sitting on his nose, not a trace of facial hair to exist. The hair on the top of his head pointing out and laying lazily on top of his head.

“Basil!” she practically squealed and the two began hugging with the dog in the middle, conflicted and trying to go between licking both of them happily.

Will and Hannibal took who they presumed to be her roommate in for a moment. He was almost the opposite of Sloane. Where she was extremely fair and small with some curvature, he was tall and thin as a rail whilst also being very tan to the point they would've guessed some sort of latin descent. His hair was black and he wore a simple t-shirt and some shorts, feet bare. His arms were covered in black swirls and some sort of holy geometric pattern that they could only guess covered more skin that they couldn't see. Basil noticed the two eying him curiously and he faked a bashful expression.

“Oh my, Sloane how dare you not warn me you were bringing visitors!” He jabbed, holding out a hand to the two gentleman. “I'm Basil Cortez. I'm her roommate and sometimes mother when she won't leave her studio,” he joked softly.

It was apparent to the two men that he didn't have much grasp of what was going on, but they shook his hand in turn, exchanging names and who they were. Sloane frowned, still holding onto her dog, stroking his head as she watched the three men.

“We should head inside before we tell him. The walls have ears,” she said in a suddenly distant tone, heading in.

Basil ushered the two men in before shutting the door behind them.

“I'm sorry about her, our neighbor a few floors down has harassed her a couple times... They're not exactly birds of a feather,” he whispered as if Sloane wouldn't hear him.

Will and Hannibal went to look over the open space, seeing a simple kitchen and bar and many paintings and small hand sized figures around the place along with quite a few book cases flooded and over-filled with books of different sizes and shapes and color. It was definitely the home of an artist, or two.

“We met in art school. I'm a landscape artist while you already know that Sloane is good with her hands.” Basil chuckled, gesturing to the girl that had taken to the kitchen, pouring herself a glass of wine at... 11 in the morning. “So... what's really going on with my little Sloane? She didn't seem interested in giving me a lot of detail over the phone.” His tone suddenly switched, a look of concern on his face as he watched his roommate fill up the wine glass almost to the brim before taking a long drink from it, making him wince. “She'll be ok. She's just stressed.”

He wasn’t sure if he was saying it for the guests or himself.

Sloane went to her room to begin getting her things together after breaking the news to Basil that she'd be staying with Dr. Lecter until the killer was caught, Atlas following close behind her with a happy, naive trot. Hannibal and Will sat the man down to give him a vague rundown of things as well as their concerns for the casual alcoholic. He knew it was for the best and sighed, having an idea how the girl must feel right now.

“She must be dying on the inside,” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I'm sure she's not as bad as you think she is.” Will tried to assure the man in front of him who sat like a princess even though he was dressed quite casually.

Basil adjust his glasses, shaking his head.

“You don't understand Sloane. When she was focused on her finals for college, she was knocking back a bottle a day, sometimes more. Granted, she got the highest grade in her class and was offered quite a few deals from some local art dealers, but she doesn't do well with a lot of stress. Especially if she's day drinking it's bad. Usually she alleviates her stress in other ways if it's just annoying her, but drinking is when I know she's in a tough spot. I'll keep my lips sealed from that little red bitch, but you have to promise not to let her die. She's my best friend and like a sister I never wanted but still love,” Basil sighed, leaning back in the leather chair, running his fingers along the stress lines in the leather itself.

A loud plop made all three men jump, turning around to see a couple of large duffle bags, stuffed to the brim with Sloane's belongings as she trotted down the stairs and towards them, waggling her finger.

“Now, now Basil. Grace under pressure, remember?” She cooed, leaning forward and wrapping her arms around his neck, nuzzling against him. “Leave me to my hedonistic ways and casual alcoholism. It'll lead me to a wonderful grave one day~!”

Will and Hannibal both looked a bit concerned as they took in the woman who'd been somber not too long ago before seeing the empty bottle of wine on the counter. Hannibal frowned and Will sighed, Basil making a face to hopefully make them not say anything to her.

“I'll drive her if you take care of her bags,” Will said in an almost questioning tone, looking to his partner.

“Acceptable. Will you be alright to work Miss-,” Hannibal's voice trailed off as he watched Sloane already trying to fit through the door with all of her bags.

The two men sighed and followed after her as Basil picked up Atlas so he could make sure the dog didn't get squished in the process. Will wondered if Sloane had even paid attention to them. She hadn't fought them over her bags, but apologized for making such a mess of things, pouting and looking on the edge of tears. It'd taken Basil having a pep talk with her to ensure she wouldn't start crying. The ride to her studio was silent except for the minor intrusions of her GPS telling him where to turn. Atlas sat in her lap, taking a nap as they drove, and as they got closer Will couldn't take it anymore, the silence was almost deafening.

“So what was the exhibit like at your last art show?” He asked, trying to hopefully get rid of the dark atmosphere.

Sloane turned her head and looked to him for a moment as if she'd forgotten who she was or the fact that someone else was in the car.

“Lost and Forgotten Gods was the title of it. It took me about two months to prepare for. Some of my sketches were even used in the gallery. I had about twenty-five percent of the proceeds go to charity to help fund art programs in schools. My old high school has lost all the extra art classes, there's only one art teacher left and she came after I graduated,” she said in a mellow tone, sounding almost sober if it weren't for what he'd seen earlier. She seemed to notice the apprehensive look he gave her. “I'm not a fragile porcelain doll... I just get a bit emotional when I've been drinking on a nearly empty stomach. But I metabolize pretty quickly. And I'll eat more soon. My studio is like a second home.” Sloane spoke sincerely, hoping he didn't really think she was some hapless drunk.

A relieved expression crossed his face as he pulled up to an art gallery, a confused expression donning his face.

“This is an art gallery though,” he said, looking rather confused.

A small chuckle whispered out of the woman.

“The top floor is my studio, the bottom floor is the art gallery, like a home base for some of my pieces, and some of Basil's work. He runs the gallery when he's not painting. And when he isn't running the gallery, we have different students from local art programs come as a sort of work study.” Sloane spoke as if it were common knowledge. Atlas hopped out of the car and stayed close by her side as she headed for the door, purse and briefcase in hand. “Well? Come along, I've got a piece I'm working on that needs my delicate touch,” she joked, winking at him before heading in.

Will followed, trying to process the woman in front of him. She could go from somber to playful so quickly. Was she bipolar or was she just drunk? Following her he saw a mousy girl with a mess of short red hair that went out in all directions who was on the phone having what appeared to be a dispute with whoever was on the other line. The minute she saw Sloane the girl made a quick comment before slamming the phone on the receiver.

“I'm sorry Ms. Flemming, the shipment of clay is going to be late. They said there was an accident and it won't be here until tomorrow,” she pouted as if a bit scared of what the woman would say.

Sloane stepped closer to the girl and cupped her cheek, a thumb stroking the skin. Her eyes soft on the scared girl.

“That's not your fault Tiffany. I'll just work more on some sketches and smaller pieces. Our Mr. Hardy will just have to wait, won't he?” Her tone was soft, almost affectionate to the girl. She pulled her hand away and placed it back down to her side. “This is Mr. Graham, he'll be sitting in with me today as I work, but if you need anything, just let me know.”

The girl, Tiffany, nodded before her expression changed to one of confusion. She reached under some papers and held an envelope out to Sloane, the woman's name written across the front in an elegant script.

“This was at the door for you, no post marks, just taped to the front... I don't know who it's from but it was here when I arrived this morning.”

Sloane hid her frown quickly and took the envelope with a smile.

“That's quite alright. Thank you very much for holding onto it for me,” she said in a sweet tone, patting the girl on the head and heading for a door behind the girl that must have lead up to the studio.

Will shook hands with the girl before following the fair woman and her dog up the stairs. She opened the door for him to follow her in as she put her things down on a table and Atlas ran for a dog bed next to a large ugly couch that was covered with bits of paint all over it. And some other weird substances that he didn't feel like finding out about. He went to look to the artist as her clothes were coming off and he turned red, throat suddenly tight as he looked away unsure of what to make of the situation.

“Uh, Sloane?”

She turned around and tilted her head before it added up in her head.

“Oh heavens to betsy no! I'm so sorry. I just didn't feel like wearing that anymore if I was going to work and possibly mess up my nice clothes. I'm so sorry,” she added with a little laugh, letting her hair down out of its braid as she made her way to a wardrobe, opening it up and pulling on a black tank top and a pair of jean shorts, her bare feet tapping on the floor as she pulled out a once white apron that had splatters of all different colors on it.

Will blushed and decided to take a seat onto the couch. He looked at the letter that sat on a round little table.

“I'll open it in a minute, but I can bet you it's probably my biggest admirer right now,” she sighed, pulling all of her hair up into a large and loose bun onto her head before walking over to the table and picked up the letter, sliding a finger under the flap to open it.

Inside was a piece of off-white paper with the same neat script written inside.

_I'm sorry to have missed you. I hope we cross paths again. You look so very good in red._

_-The Curator_

She went cold and tossed it onto the couch for Will to see.

“He's calling himself a curator, how quaint...” she snarled. That truly was the only explanation. With her coloring she never wore red...until her blood covered her face and chest last night. Her stomach knotted at the thought.

Will looked the letter over, turning it over in his fingers carefully before picking up the envelope. Her hands and Tiffany's had touched the envelope but maybe the letter was salvageable for fingerprints.

“Go ahead. I don't want to see it anyway,” she barked, walking over to a wheel and grabbing what looked like the last of the clay and sitting it down before popping onto a small stool. “Atlas, do the thing,” she commanded him. The dog gave a bark in response, getting out of his bed and hopping on the couch, propping up on the edge of it to tap a button on a black remote that sat on the arm all alone.

French ballads filled the room, softly playing and bouncing off the walls as Atlas settled onto the couch, nuzzling up to Will in a very familiar way. The man gave in with a smile and allowed the dog to lay close to him, rubbing his head as he watched Sloane work in silence. Her hands worked like magic to take a dull lump of clay, crafting it into a small pot that formed slowly under her touch. She wore a soft smile as she worked, humming along with the music. It was like watching a completely different person. The flirty and conflicted woman disappeared, replaced with someone who loved and didn't mind being consumed by their own work. Hours passed as she worked and made a honey pot, adding special intricate design along the outside before putting it in the kiln. While it baked, she sat down at a table with a large lamp cast over a sketch pad that she worked dutifully in. Will remembered her mentioning her sketches selling and he wondered how much her stuff sold for. From the looks of things, quite a bit. He stayed silent, not wanting to disturb her. The frantic and hyper-sensitive girl was replaced by a confident woman who knew exactly what she was capable of.

It wasn't long before the daylight began disappearing. Sloane had ordered everyone Chinese, appearing to check back in with reality from her own little world. She'd invited Tiffany up to eat with them, closing up the store early. Will saw how Tiffany fretted over Sloane's hands, nearly on the edge of tears, asking if it would affect her work and if she was alright. The way the woman easily lied to coax the girl from worry, saying that it was simply a fall near a rose bush...it worked wonders.

He saw how everyone easily trusted and cared for her. She was talented and yet she was encouraging this young girl over a glass of wine, helping her out with her own work. It was as if she was holding it together all for the sake of one girl. When she told Tiffany she could leave early for the night Will watched the girl hug her and leave in a much happier state than she'd been that morning. Sloane began switching off lights and taking off her apron, taking the small pot out of the kiln and setting it on the small table.

“If you like it, you're welcome to take it home with you. It was just a stress relief piece,” Sloane offered, changing back into the clothes she'd worn that morning.

Will looked from the pot to her before giving a small shake of his head.

“I couldn't, plus I have too many dogs. One of them might cause it to break and I'd feel terrible.”

Atlas had gotten comfortable to the point of being practically curled up in his lap, making him feel bad for ushering the dog out of his lap.

“Ah well, I'll paint it up and give to Tiffany then. Poor girl is so stressed out. It's her final year and she's a fashion major. Super competitive major.” Sloane said with a soft smile, patting her leg for Atlas to come to her side. “I guess we should head back to Dr. Lecter's now,” she sighed, making a face.

Will furrowed his brow.

“Is something wrong? Do you not want to go?” Concern touched his voice.

“I do and I don't... Sex is hard when you get put on hold and you can't tell if someone is polite or just too disgusted by you to ever think of you in a romantic way,” Sloane complained, picking up her bags and heading for the door.

“Wait, are you speaking about Hannibal? Because I'm pretty sure he isn't disgusted by you. You're not disgusting, Sloane. Hannibal is a psychiatrist, I'm sure an addiction to sex is one of the least disgusting issues he's heard of.” Will tried to assure her.

She looked down then back up to him from under her eyelashes. He hadn't noticed she was a bit shorter than him.

“Can I have a hug?” She asked in a timid mousy voice that he barely recognized.

He gave a small laugh and engulfed Sloane in a tight hug, holding onto her for as long as she needed. They stood there for a moment before she finally let go, looking up to him with a meaningful look.

“Thanks,” she mumbled before shuffling down the stairs.

Will tried to digest the day as he drove her to Hannibal's home while she sat and texted someone. She wasn't bipolar, nor a drunk. She just needed a friend right now. And she probably wasn't sure of who she could trust. He felt a bit bad for her and remembered the feeling that he imagined she was going through and sighed as he parked the car.

“If you ever need anything, please text or call me. I don't care about the time of day,” Will offered as the two went inside to find Hannibal taking off his coat for the night.

“Oh, good evening. I thought you two would be later. Are you ready to go home, Will?” He looked to the two with a bit of surprise.

Will agreed and the two were leaving just like that, leaving Sloane by herself with her dog. She locked the door behind them before sliding down the wall to sit on the floor, petting his head.

“Looks like we have the place to ourselves for a bit pal...”

 **  
** Atlas barked and she sighed, heading for the kitchen. Wine time. Again. And maybe a quick tour about the house. There had to be a laundry room somewhere, right?


	5. The Demons Are All Here.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sloane gets alone time, that she can't figure out whether is good or bad for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's a bit on the short side, the next chapter will be lengthier.
> 
> I own no one but Sloane and pals.

 

An hour.

He'd been gone a whole hour.

Sloane threw her head back, finishing the glass of wine with one last gulp. She looked down at her sketch and saw a stag with feathers the color of night instead of fur. She stared at it for a long moment before deciding to leave it be for now. She gave a small half-drunk whistle to the dog who sat dutifully next to her chair and walked down the hallway as Atlas trailed behind her.

Maybe, if Dr. Lecter was going to take his time, she would snoop around her temporary lodgings. The woman turned and went back into the kitchen to refill the glass of wine before returning to her little drunken adventure. Snooping called for a fresh glass of wine.

She wandered around upstairs for a few moments before stumbling upon what appeared to be the master suite. She walked in, guessing from the furnishings that Dr. Lecter used this as his bedroom. She made her way inside and took a seat upon his bed, sipping generously from the glass as she looked around. No red flags so far, although he was definitely neater than she was. His bed was super soft, too. His room looked like it belonged in a furniture catalog it was so perfect and peaceful. A fireplace... he had a fireplace in his bedroom. And the mirror above it that reflected on the chaise lounge at the foot of his bed.

Her mind darkened as a slow smirk spread across her face. How many people had he fucked on that bench seat and watched their reflection? She quickly shamed herself for thinking of such things. It was like a constant battle between trying to respect him and his apparently lack of desire for her and her craving of every inch of him.

Sloane made a small sound in the back of her throat as she moved to peek into his bathroom. A shiver ran up her spine as she took in the expansive room. If the guest bathroom was nice, this was nothing to sneeze at and triple the luxury. She tilted her head to the side as she took the bathroom in, sipping her wine. Her clothes started to feel restrictive as she whined, heading for the bathtub that was built more like a sunken jacuzzi. As she walked she stripped leaving a trail of clothing leading in the direction of her room. She left her glass of wine on the counter, having no hands free to hold it and get the stifling clothes off her tingling skin. Her shirt found the comfortably warm tile of the floor, along with a few other choice articles of clothing before she was completely nude in front of the gilded frame mirror. She needed, but also felt distaste as she realized she couldn't exactly bring anyone back to the house she was a guest in--it'd be disrespectful and just distasteful.

But no one would know if she used the jets of his tub strategically, now would they?

This whole situation was like some sort of bad cosmic joke at her expense. She was finally at a the height of her career...and all it'd taken was one asshole to butcher her life up by wanting her dead and she was stuck living with a man she couldn’t have sex with no matter how much she wanted to.

The bathtub began to fill with hot steamy water as Sloane hummed softly, beginning the preparations: laying out her towel for when she got out and setting up the music, even pulling a few candles out of her bag and lighting them. She even took the extra minute to make sure her bun wouldn't come loose while she was in the tub. No one knew where she was except for her roommate, Will and Dr. Lecter, and she planned to keep it that way.

Her heart beat against her chest as she thought of her host and a small purr slipped out of her lips. Atlas had retreated to the bed, curled up on the opposing pillow from where he could smell Sloane had been sitting very recently. Once the tub was filled, bubbles and all, Sloane made her way into the bathtub itself, wiggling in excitement. No one to disturb her, she was a little tipsy and the mood was set. Her body hummed in excitement as the hot water coasted over her skin, making it prickle in all the right places. An elated gasp spread from her lips as she rested her head on the edge of the tub. She dug into her mind and pulled out a steamy fantasy to accompany her bath.

“Such a needy little sex kitten,” a voice chastised softly and her body lit up in response as she spurred herself forward, fingers diving between milky white thighs.

It was almost as if she could actually feel him there with her. His broad shoulders and chest engulfing her small frame as his arms held her there. One hand knowingly wrapped around her throat and another teasing her nub as a fore finger flicked over it repeatedly, causing her breath to hitch in her throat. Her brow furrowed as she whimpered and her hips thrust up in rebellion. She couldn't help but need more touching, more stimulation.

“More...” she managed to rasp out, eyes rolling back in pleasure as she felt a hand slap over bare thigh.

Another bolt of lightning traveled through her nerves at that as fingers thrust up through her slit and rubbed up over her g-spot.

“You do not get to decide what you want. You will take what I am generously offering you,” the voice rumbled in her ear, causing a shiver to travel down her spine.

With that she hit her first peak, mewing out as she rode the wave of euphoria. The hand that once clutched her throat now fondling one of her breasts, thumb rolling over her nipple as nimble fingers continued to explore and stretch against her hot spot repeatedly. Sloane felt overwhelmed as her body was racked with the electricity coursing through every nerve ending. It felt almost endless and yet she couldn't find herself wanting it to end. Her body finally began to relax as her hands pulled away from herself. Her face flushed from a mix of the heat of the water and her own orgasms. She blew out a long breath, making sure to lock away that fantasy for her needier nights.

“Fucking hell,” she muttered, looking at the time just as her hands began to return for round two.

Had it really been twenty minutes already? That'd only felt like a couple of minutes.

Sloane gave a small groan and pulled the stopper up to let the water begin to drain, pulling herself out of the tub and giving a small shiver. Had it been this cold last night? She wrapped herself up in a towel and headed for the bedroom as she dried off. She thought about being called a sex kitten again and shivered. _If only._ The thought made her face turn pink as she pulled on a sweater and some panties, letting her hair down to put it into a loose braid.

“Come on Atlas, let's go clean up mommy's mess before Dr. Lecter gets back and scolds her,” the idea made her shiver and purr at the same time.

She gathered her clothes and headed down the stairs with the dog trailing close behind, humming as she put away the wine bottle and washed off the wine glass she'd been drinking out of, even taking the time to clean up her little mini work station. Every time she stopped her eyes were drawn back to the sketch. She couldn't really muster or figure out where the image had come from, but it was so vivid in her mind that she decided against pushing the matter. Sloane jumped as Atlas began to bark, dropping her sketchbook and pencils to the floor as she heard a whooshing sound out a nearby window. Her eyes turned as her heart dropped to her stomach.

“Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope,” she began repeating, scooping the barking dog up and running up the stairs to the room she was staying in, quickly shutting it and locking the door. She grabbed her phone, but her hands trembled as she struggled to click on Will's number. She brought the phone to her ear as she hoped with all her might it had been a rabbit or some other random animal.

“Hello?” The voice on the other side was like an anchor.

“Oh thank god... I'm sorry. I heard something, and Dr. Lecter isn't back and Atlas barked, and oh god... Please tell me he's on his way. I'm not religious, I'm just scared. It was probably an animal? I don't know... can you please stay on the phone with me? I'm scared to leave my room and I suddenly wish I'd grabbed a knife or something...” She stuttered and managed to say, trying to avoid crying at all costs, knowing how hysteric she must have sounded.

There was silence for a moment on the other end and what sounded like tapping before she heard Will's voice again.

“Alright, I just checked and Hannibal says he's halfway there but he'll hurry. And of course I'll stay on the phone with you. Do you wanna talk about something else?” He offered, hoping to help her calm down.

She nodded before realizing that he was on the phone with her and couldn't hear a nod before giving a small uh-huh. She'd felt so much better earlier. Confident, sexy, tipsy... how had things changed so fast?

They sat on the phone for about twenty minutes, Will just telling her about his different dogs and offering to take her fly fishing with him one day. She admitted to never having even gone fishing to which he assured her it wasn't too hard and he'd start out simple for her. She began to calm down, her breathing and heart beat evening out as his method of distracting her began to work.

It was nice to have a friend who didn't just want you for your body or for the sake of saying they know you, besides Basil of course who was too proud to even mention their connection when trying to get his own work out there. She told him more about herself and how she and Basil had become friends in their first drawing class together in college and since then had been inseparable.

“So... I have a weird question about your... condition? Do you... sleep with married men as well?” Will asked, sounding as if he were almost scared to ask.

Sloane gave a little laugh as she stroked Atlas' fur.

“You can ask me about my sex life, it's ok. And, yes, I have from time to time. Although more married women seem to be interested in me most of the time. Something about being good with my hands and knowing the female anatomy better than most males. Granted, I can't lie, some of my female partners have been preferential to the male ones pleasure wise.” Sloane laughed, tracing patterns now with her fingers. “I'm like an experience for them. But it's not a lasting thing if that's what you're asking. And I've never really thought about vengeful partners... yet,” she said, her voice drifting off as she kind of wished the person trying to kill her was just a scorned lover. It'd be a lot more cut and dry. Easier to narrow down a suspect.

Sloane took in the silence on the other line and wondered if maybe she'd gone too far and insulted him... Was it the sleeping with married people part or the insulting men as lovers part?

“I haven't slept with a married patron in over a year though... Basil says it's bad for my mental health anyway. And men can be good lovers too,” she tried to amend. It wasn't like she was lying, her best friend had gotten onto her about how messy sleeping with married people would get if she kept it up. “Of course, I had to make the joke to him not to kink shame me in my own house, but, I listened.”

It was silent for a moment before she heard laughter and relief flooded her.

“It's perfectly fine. I mean, at least you're doing better for yourself. I hate to see you hurt.” She wanted to cry, he was such a nice guy.

“Oh Will, you're too kind. I'm not good people, and I know what I did was wrong. It's fine. Oh, and thanks for helping me calm down. You're a good guy.” She smiled into the phone, rubbing at her eyes.

Sloane hadn't realized how distracted she'd been until there was a sudden knock at her door and she jumped, clapping a hand over her mouth before she could scream. She contemplated who was behind the door until finally the person spoke up.

“Miss Sloane? It is Hannibal. Are you alright in there?”

Her body sagged in relief as she sighed and turned her attention back to the phone.

“Well... he's back. I'll talk to you tomorrow, I'm sure,” she said, giving her goodbye.

As Will gave his farewell she could only nod along before hanging up and heading to the door, unlocking it and slowly opening the door. Indeed, Dr. Lecter was behind it and not some imposter.

“I checked around the house and no one was here and there's no indication of someone trying to break in... Unfortunately it is raining again so any tracks are covered. I am sorry to have left you so long, Miss Sloane.”

Sloane felt the overwhelming urge to hug the man but restrained herself, choosing to just retreat to the bed. Her legs and body sliding under the cover before she looked up to him.

“I found your sketchbook and pencils on the floor of the kitchen though, I am guessing from when you heard the noise. Forgive me for looking inside, but you are very talented Miss Sloane, I may have to invest in some of your work myself.”

Her cheeks burned in embarrassment as she watched him place her book on the end table before sitting at the foot of the bed. He'd looked at her work? He wanted her work to be in his vicinity? He liked her work? Her brain began to overheat as she tried to process his words.

“Really? I- I uh, thank you... But I'm not all that. Really,” she protested, hands raised, eyebrows nearly reaching her hairline.

There was that stupid little smile again. Or was it a grin? She couldn't figure it out but felt that overwhelming heat in her body again.

“I would beg to differ,” he said before his face went serious and he put a hand on hers. “If there is anything you need, do not hesitate to ask. I am sorry for not giving you my number before. I should have known better,” he seemed almost as if he were chiding himself.

Her nose wrinkled as she squeezed his hand quickly, not wanting to see that look on his face.

“No, you're fine. I should've been more forthcoming and it may have been an animal. I'm sorry for worrying you,” she said before realizing she was clutching onto his hand. She quickly released it and moved said overstimulated hand to stroke Atlas, who'd dozed off again.

That stupid endearing look was going to be the end of her.

“It is perfectly alright, Miss Sloane. You should get some rest,” he chuckled and began to stand once more.

Without thinking, her hand flung out to grab his. Her face was red and brow furrowed as she got flustered when he turned to look at her in confusion. She looked at the ground, struggling to look him in the eye for a moment and gather herself. Finally her eyes slowly pulled themselves from the ground to look up at him.

“Could you, er, maybe stay in here until I fall asleep? I'm, kinda spooked, more than my pride would like to admit,” she muttered the last part, eyes quickly darting to the side.

He smiled at her and she could feel her stomach doing back flips as he sat back down.

“Of course. It is no bother at all,” his voice and words seemed to soothe her as she laid down and curled up under the sheets.

 **  
** One hand stayed out, clutching his as she began to doze off, cheeks still flushed pink. She may have been embarrassed, but her hand held onto his for dear life until consciousness left her.


	6. Tempt Not A Desperate Woman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I own no one but the random classmates, Dr. Jensen, Sloane, Basil and her dog.

Nearly a week had passed and it had been relatively quiet. Sloane had adopted a system at night with Hannibal holding her hand until she fell asleep. They'd set up a curfew, much to her chagrin, so that they could make sure she was in the clear. She'd weaseled her way into seeing his office after a good bit of begging on about the third day.

 

She'd found it unnervingly formal for a place where men and women were to unburden themselves of their troubles and enigmas. It wasn't unlike other psychiatrist offices she'd been in, but there was something else. It was like there was an uncomfortably cold perfection to the room. What had come off as endearingly opulent in his home seemed almost sterile here. It was as if without him in the room, it was just another meeting space ready to be rented out to a third party.  Her fingers had run over the chairs as she took in the room.

 

 _Was it everything you'd hoped for?_ His voice had rung out in the room like an anchor for her as she was drowning in the stale, stifling air of the room.

 

Sloane couldn't remember if she'd even managed a response for the man.

 

The meeting with her own psychiatrist had been put off until the next week since the woman was to be interrogated on what business she'd known Sloane to have been engaging in lately, if she'd come across anyone peculiar. Unfortunately, not even the great Dr. Bordenson had an answer to whatever mysteries they hoped to resolve. It was left to Hannibal and Will, well, really Will with Hannibal standing behind him, to break the news to her that they didn't have any leads just yet.

 

Basil had finally talked her into one of their special brunches to try and cheer her up, helping her get away from the world of murder and chaperones.

 

“So, Fire Crotch keeps dropping by trying to find out what you're doing with the murder husbands.”

 

Sloane nearly choked, putting the mimosa down and having to hold a napkin to her mouth.

 

“I'm sorry, murder husbands?”

 

Basil snickered as he watched her nose wrinkle and the wheels in his best friend's mind turn as she tried to process his words before a small o formed on her lips.

 

“But... well, they have slept together...” she muttered, looking down at her omelette, poking it with her fork.

 

“Woah, what? Seriously?” Basil laughed, his laughter getting louder as she turned red.

 

“I made Will promise not to lie to me like Dr. Lecter and Detective Crawford obviously are. I know things are a lot worse than they want to admit to me. So I got curious and wine drunk one night and got him to confess to what I'd already guessed,” she grumped, putting the flute of bubbly, bright liquid to her lips.

 

Basil snorted as he took a bite of the quiche he'd ordered, not surprised.

 

“So Dr. Tall and Mysterious is gay?”

 

“Not... exactly... he's slept with a female colleague who looks like she wants to dig out my eyes every time I so much as make eye contact with Dr. Lecter. So keep your hands to yourself you gutterslut,” she chided cooly, eyes looking out at the light snow falling on the ground.

 

It was beginning to stick just like her little crush, unfortunately.

 

“Har har, says the person who's slept with at least a tenth of her clientele... So have you slept with either of them yet? Oooh! At the same time?” Basil seemed to get a little excited at the idea, grinning like a jackass eating briars.

 

Sloane tossed a cherry tomato at the man in rebellion, face just as red as the tomato, making Basil start laughing even louder. This made the other tables to glance at them coldly before he adjusted his glasses and gave the snooty people a small sneer.

 

“Will's too sweet for that and Dr. Lecter is just a man of business,” she muttered, stabbing her omelet with her fork. “Only a tenth, that’s cute,” she snorted in retort.

 

Her friend took a bite of his quiche knowingly before sipping from the flute in front of him. He was only on his second while she was on her third and he'd noticed, as much as she'd tried to not make it obvious.

 

“Oh please. You eat up men like that for breakfast. Fine pressed tweed suit, perfect hair and demeanor. I believe the words you always use are, 'Oh I just want to see them get a little tousled and messy. Mussed. Dirtying up a man like that is a rite of passage.' End quote.” He laughed as she smacked him on the arm for throwing her own words back at her.

 

Sloane couldn't get any redder at this point as she just hoped no one was listening to them talk.

 

“Oh please, you can't die of embarrassment... I think. Ouch! Too soon? Sorry!” He yelped as she stabbed him with her fork with a testy look on her face.

 

Basil sighed and took his friend's hand, holding it tightly in his.

 

“I really do give a shit about you, Sloane. Sometimes it seems you need someone who can tease you and help keep you grounded. That whole lot just seems a bit too serious in my opinion. Let's have a night of debauchery to lighten your spirits!”

 

The man held up his glass in hopes she'd actually meet his eyes with hers, but instead watched as she finished off the flute, signaling for another.

 

“I can't... I'm on curfew. It's the stipulation for me being able to drive around on my own. Curfew means if I make it in on time then they know everything is ok and accounted for... Don't give me that look! Dr. Lecter is quite the chef so it's like a gourmet meal every night.”

 

Basil gave her a look, putting his glass down, frowning.

 

“Honey, prison is still prison no matter if you're the most popular girl or not. I'm busting you out tonight whether you like it or not, we're going to spend the night in the studio with some of our old school mates, play games maybe drink. It'll be fun. Plus I already said you'd be there,” he laughed, rubbing his arm where she'd slapped him.

 

Sloane made a face at him as she sipped at the fresh flute of champagne and orange juice.

 

“You get to tell my jailer then why I'm passed out against my statue of the god, Mars,” she snarked at him before finishing off her omelet.

 

“Fine with me, maybe you'll finally get the balls to fuck him that way.” Basil laughed as he dodged another barrage of cherry tomatoes.

 

\--

 

After much fighting and hesitation, Sloane had given up and realized that a night in with old schoolmates from her alma mater hadn't been such a bad idea after all.

 

It had started out as awkward catching up and talking about some successes and failures, but as the wine flowed, everyone got more comfortable just like wine nights back in college. Sloane had ditched the sweater and pants for a pair of shorts and a torn up and tattered concert tank. She'd left her phone tucked away in her day clothes and chose to focus on her old friends. She was even getting along with an old rival from her sculpting classes.

 

As the night went on he seemed to get more flirty and she found herself almost disgusted with just how hard he was practically throwing himself at her. Usually she would revel in such behavior, but his attempts were almost laughable compared to the classy acts of her clients...or was she comparing him to Dr. Lecter?

 

“You're so much more successful than I am, I'm jealous. You always have been Dr. Jensen's favorite,” he laughed, leaning against her, his fingers dancing along her leg. “You and Basil even have a gallery together and still get shows almost anywhere you want. I was always so... mmm, oh god...” he muttered before turning green with more than envy.

 

Sloane and the others watched him run to the lavatory and she found herself laughing, falling backwards against the wall, everyone looking at her as she was beside herself. Basil figured out what she was laughing at through a drunken stupor and joined in, the other classmates soon joining in.

 

After that little show, Basil decided to commence a game of guess the inspiration which made Sloane make a face and decide to head up to the studio, taking a bottle of wine with her. Everyone else had brought a collection with them, so no one would notice one missing.

 

She took a seat on the couch, opened her sketchbook and began to sketch idly. Slowly, the stag began to appear before her as she swigged at the bottle, her thoughts circling as she mindlessly drew. That stupid Ren was probably going to say he liked her, which would be a bit of a stretch since he probably only liked certain parts of her. He'd been so prissy in class with his private lessons and look what Daddy bought me! She'd been so happy to beat him out in their finals. Poor sucker had cried. She laughed to herself as she continued the sketch, her thoughts circling back to her keeper, Dr. Lecter. Her eyes fluttered shut as her chest turned to fire, and she ran a hand through her hair. Who'd turned the kiln on? She glanced to it and realized it was off.

 

Her eyes squinched at the bottle of wine as she decided it was time to stop. Sloane laughed again, this time a little more out loud as she thought about how angry the very hot Dr. Lecter would be at her. Of course, her thoughts circled down the gutter to just how she could be of help in resolving that anger... Her eyes fingers sped up in their strokes on the paper at that thought, and her small, pink tongue slipped out from between her lips and licked along her top lip.

 

“Miss Sloane?”

 

She heard a voice and peeked her eyes open to see the man she'd been thinking about in the doorway of her studio. This was like a dream. Maybe it was. She wrinkled up her nose at him and gave a giggle.

 

“You came all this way because I missed curfew?” Sloane smiled, obviously tickled with herself.

 

He came closer, looking...concerned?

 

“Miss Sloane, are you intoxicated?” He sounded upset, maybe?

 

Did his voice sound this husky all the time? His hair looked a little out of place, which was strange as well. He always looked so perfectly kept, no matter the circumstance.

 

“Mmm, maybe. But 'm not some charge.”

 

She sat up a bit, waving a hand at him to get him to come closer. A crooked smile split her face when he complied and she slipped a hand to grip the collar of his pea coat, and pulled his face down to hers, her lips crushing against his. She'd fantasized about him, his voice, his hands... but this was the first time she'd even thought about kissing him. As their lips melded it was like her once off-color world was suddenly in technicolor. She purred happily, and tried her best to tug him closer. It felt like everything she'd needed, but never thought to ask for.

 

“Oh god damn it,” she muttered, her brow furrowing as her hands clenched the collar of his suit jacket. The heat in her chest grew as the urge to tear his clothes off grew.

 

Hands placed themselves over hers like two burning reminders of who she was clutching as her eyes opened and she looked at him, brain hazy.

 

“Miss Sloane, you are acting out your sexual frustrations.”

 

“Oh hush, you know I hate that doctor talk. Just fuck me,” she groaned, wanting to pull him back down to her. She was frustrated. Agitated that her own dream wouldn’t comply with her! This was her dream, damn it.

 

A small cough startled her as she struggled to grasp at her own thoughts.

 

“Ah, Miss Sloane. I am sure that is the wine talking... We really should get you home. In your current state, you are at a high risk.”

 

Something clicked in her brain as her eyes darted from herself to the man above her. Her hot skin blushed a deeper red as the haze in her mind shifted.

 

“S'not a dream... is it?” She muttered, looking like a deer in headlights.

 

“I am afraid not Miss Sloane...”

 

A long and loud groan sounded out as her hands pulled away from his to cover her face.

 

“Leave me ‘lone to perish please,” she mumbled between her hands.

 

A hand rubbed over her back in what was meant to be consoling, but only made her feel worse, before a hand slipped around her and she was hoisted over his shoulder.

 

“I am sorry Miss Sloane, that is not possible. No one here is currently about to stay accountable for themselves, let alone you. And let us remember there is a greater threat of a possible murderer to take into account as well.”

 

Dr. Lecter carried her downstairs, picking up her phone in the process. He informed Basil to drop her things off at his place when he was sober enough to drive before leaving with the drunk blonde who was too ashamed to look anyone in the face. Instead she chose to sulk and take in the very nice sight of his firm backside. Once seated she stayed curled up in her seat, face flushed as she refused to say a word.

 

“Do not blame yourself Miss Sloane, it is only natural to want to latch onto what would seem to be safe in a situation such as yours. I am not mad, just please try not to break curfew for such a dangerous activity again without informing anyone.”

 

Sloane didn't say anything and quickly retreated to her room the minute they were inside.

 

–-

 

Sloane spent the next week, avoiding Hannibal at all costs. He knew better than to push her boundaries, preferring not to cause her to feel unsafe in the place he had told her she could make a safe haven for the time being. In that time she never missed curfew but she did skip his dinners. She even refused to even talk about it with Will. She worked on a piece for an up and coming show with Basil at their gallery and took care of Atlas, but besides that she was like a ghost. Basil found himself unable to get a word out of her. She skipped her psychiatry appointment which was unlike her as well. Every time someone tried to catch her while she was out, she was always one step ahead.

 

By Thursday, Will had finally had enough and burst into her gallery unannounced and walked up to her studio, ignoring sweet little Tiffany's cries for him to let her work, that she was focused. Sloane was on a step stool, carving and molding clay into the visage of a standing warrior, a sword protruding from his lower abdomen. Her hands were focused on the hilt of the sword as she looked to an image on a tablet for reference. She nearly dropped her tools and screamed when someone burst in and locked the door. Her heart beat began to slow as she realized it was only Will.

 

“This is ridiculous Sloane. You can't avoid everyone until you die. Hannibal won't even tell me what's upset you. Now talk,” he demanded, standing with his arms crossed in front of the woman.

 

She made a face before sighing and wiping at her face with her wrist, not wanting to get more clay on herself. She stepped down and walked over to the sink to wash her hands.

 

“I kissed Dr. Lecter, thinking it was a dream in my drunken, delusional state...” she muttered as she dried her hands off with a stained towel defeatedly.

 

Will stood there for a moment, trying to understand how something like a drunken kiss had been enough to send her into a spiral of cutting everyone out to the point that her best friend was now demanding answers from someone before he started “cracking skulls”. Not like the effeminate man would actually do that, but he wasn't the only one concerned.

As his thoughts spiralled Will remembered what she'd said before about not knowing what to do, assuming that the older gentleman was very much not attracted to her.

 

“Sloane... it's ok. I'm sure he's not holding it against you. He knows about your condition and circumstances.”

 

Sloane made a small sound in her throat that sounded like a laugh that stopped halfway in her throat.

 

“I never do things without consent. No matter my condition or how drunk I am. I don't think you get it, Will. I told him to fuck me. Do you have any idea how embarrassing that is?”

 

Will sighed, unsure how to make the woman feel better. This was such a sticky situation. He couldn't tell her to suck it up and go for it, and telling her to just get over it would be rude. He heard a noise and looked up quickly. He could see her shaking, lip quivering and hear the beginnings of a good cry as she began to rub at her face. He moved closer and opened his arms, which she quickly moved into.

 

“Shhh, shhh, it's ok,” he embraced her, stroking her back to try and soothe her.

 

She sobbed into his shoulder, hands balled up into fists as she shook.

 

“Someone w-w-wants to kill me a-a-and all I can think ab-b-b-bout is fucking some guy wh-wh-who isn't even interested,” she stuttered while sobbing, shaking in his arms.

 

Will tried to think of something he could say to make her feel better without getting her hopes up or dashing them, although she seemed to do that herself with her self-deprecation. He just continued to stroke her back, letting her cry it all out. He didn’t think she'd cried over any of this or even tried to talk to anyone with how suddenly she’d broken down.

 

“It'll be ok Sloane.” Will wanted to tell her she wasn't the first to fall for those charms of Hannibal's, but wasn't sure that would exactly help her feel any better, especially with her aversion to Dr. Bloom.

 

She wiped her eyes and panted from crying so hard, tears still falling from her eyes as she looked up him and he felt a pang for not pressing the issue sooner. Had she kept all of this pent up? All this time, all this shame? Apparently Sloane’s thoughts were mere echoes of his own as she started talking once more.

 

“Dr. Bloom's thoughts about me are right anyway. I'm an artist who sleeps around almost all the time, I'm not exactly prime and for the taking for him. Oh please, it's written all over her face every time she sees me,” she snorted at the look he gave her, scraping her fingertips over her face.

 

He conceded and sighed, wiping the tears off her face himself.

 

“Stop the self-deprecation, Sloane. You’re using what you think other people think about you...all guess work. Maybe you are right, and Dr. Bloom does feel that way, but if so that is her problem for letting her own feelings cloud her judgement of you,” Will scolded her in a light tone.

 

Sloane sniffled and sighed, laying her head on his shoulder.

 

“Thanks for not taking advantage of me in my vulnerable state,” she muttered, hiding her face in his shirt as she let out a huge sigh and snuggled closer to him for warmth.

 

Will felt his cheeks tinge as he looked forward and gulped. He couldn't tell if she was reading his emotions or his thoughts but he was a little ashamed as he settled for just looking over her head.

 

“I know I've ignored you for like... a week, and this is a weird request but would you mind... holding me for a bit? The hilt on that sword is the last touch and it's almost done,” she muttered, her cheeks red hot from crying.

 

Will stood stock still for a moment trying to evaluate her statement.

 

“Only if you agree to talk things out with Hannibal before your art show.”

 

Sloane made a disgruntled noise, sagging against him in rebellion, not like she weighed much. His eyes glanced down to hers as he waited for an answer, knowing she was drawing it out on purpose. His hands began to loosen before she gripped his shirt, puffing out her cheeks.

 

“Fine... You win... Jerk,” she muttered before thumping her forehead against his chest in defeat.

  
She would talk to Dr. Lecter and work things out, even though she didn't want to. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I hope you've enjoyed things so far. If you have any suggestions, I'm willing to listen. I'm up for constructive criticism. As long as it's constructive.


	7. Folly of the Fools and Ignorance of the Innocent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally an actual appointment with the talked about psychiatrist! Enjoy ladies and gents.  
> I own no one but, well, everyone who talks in this chapter.

The apology had been as painfully awkward as Sloane had expected it to be, mainly for herself. Dr. Lecter had handled it so methodically that Sloane almost wished she had been killed a couple of weeks ago. Other than that, the process of getting ready for the gallery showing and silent auction had gone exceptionally well. The invitations were sent off and the RSVPs had been almost double their usual. Over the past couple of weeks Sloane had finally found a balance of randomly speaking with Will about the case and being tailed by a someone almost constantly. It was only now, after begging for any way, shape or form of privacy, that she was allowed to walk about on her own during the day. As long as she kept a sort of schedule and informed someone of what and who she'd see and do until the killer was caught she would be allowed, all because this psychopath had left that note at her gallery.

 

Unfortunately, she couldn't escape her psychiatrist this week.

 

“We have two weeks to catch up on, Sloane. Apparently an eventful two weeks it has been, as well.”

 

The blonde made a face at the older woman in front of her. Her hair was cut into a bob that elongated in the front, the hair a very soft grey with a white streak down the left side, her eyes matching Sloane's in their silver hue. You'd think it was her mother and not her psychiatrist when Sloane looked almost nothing like her actual mother.

 

“Yeah... sorry you had to be dragged into it. I, er, well, no one is that close to really figuring it out. There's been no more murders by whoever is doing it so they're sure he's focused on me and making me his biggest piece…,” she muttered, pushing at the cushion of the chair she sat in.

 

“And how does that make you feel?”

 

Sloane almost grimaced at the words since they were the stereotypical phrase of psychiatry in and of itself. She plucked at the material.

 

“Frustrated, scared, really pissed off too. It's like, I can't live my own life without having to second guess my usual decisions and choices. Like, can this put me in danger more than usual? Maybe I shouldn't go places. I have to give my schedule to whomever is tailing me so that they know what I’m doing every day. I can't be spontaneous! I can't really do my usual little games and masturbation only gets me so far... On the bright side, well, if you can call it that, I've already got ideas and plans for my next pieces.”

 

Dr. Bordenson sat in silence for a couple of moments, measuring Sloane's words, expressions and body language. Sloane pulled at the sleeves on her oversized sweater dress, her hair pulled back loosely into a low ponytail, her eyes filled with an exhausted and almost exasperated lack of light. Her eyebrows furrowed as she was in deep thought.

 

“So, you're not staying at home during all of this. How is that going? Is it hard being away from Basil more than usual?” The older woman asked, scribbling in a small notebook.

 

Sloane wrinkled her nose as she thought about it for a moment and sighed before running a hand through her bangs, the hair falling back into place almost naturally.

 

“It's hard. Dr. Lecter is everything I look for in my lovers, but I can't bring myself to do anything I'd usually do. He's different. It's almost scary. He's like the apple on the top branch of a tree that's perfect, but so perfect that you're scared that detaching him from his place would ruin everything about him.”

 

“Do you think being intimate with him would ruin your image of him?”

 

“No, not like that. I've looked and I can't see him reciprocating anything I'd put out. He's so foreign to me. But it's so frustrating because I never hold back from a challenge. It's like there's a wall of glass that I'm scared to break if I say the wrong thing. I... kissed him and I've never been more mortified in my whole life. I thought I was dreaming and he just...He diagnosed me! I guess, I'm scared he's going to just do things for me that I want out of pity,” she said sadly.

 

“It makes me question my own intentions because I don't know if maybe I could finally have genuine feelings or if it’s me projecting a need for protection, for an anchor and I’m just clutching onto the first person that holds out a hand.” Sloane grumped out. Her mind reeled as she felt a surge of emotions, frustratedly pushing her hands through her hair.

 

“I've never had these issues before, I don't know what to do. I feel like he just sees me as a wounded animal. Like, he's only looking out for me because of some duty or proper manner. And, I'm scared that I'd just take advantage of what's not there,” her tone turned to one of disgust for a moment as her nose wrinkled up at the thought of his lack of emotions.

 

She let out an exasperated sigh, slumping back into the chair, her head thumping against the back of it as she gazed along the carpet.

 

“I'm so scared and Basil can't help me out. No one can. I can't tell what's genuine and what's just out of a sense of duty. Agent Graham has been possibly the most patient with my stupid hurricane of emotions. I... I think I found a friend in him. Agent Graham I mean. He makes me talk about things, but doesn't make me feel bad about my... condition. He seems like he's trying to understand, or he does and sympathizes.” Sloane finished off, finally looking up at her psychiatrist with an earnest expression.

 

Dr. Bordenson noticed the young woman's fingers tugging and releasing repeatedly at her sleeves, worrying at the material. Her eyes watched as Sloane seemed to make a decision and reach for her purse and opened it before looking to her for permission.

 

“Is it ok if I smoke in here?”

 

“I didn't know you smoked.”

 

“Neither did I until this past week or so...”

 

The older woman couldn't help the smile that spread over her lips as she saw the ashamed and embarrassed expression.

 

“Only if I get one too. It'll be our little secret,” she winked.

 

A look of surprise crossed over Sloane's face before a look of relief took over as she pulled out a small pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Dr. Bordenson got up and walked to her desk, retrieved a small black ashtray from a random drawer and walked back to the two chairs they'd resided in prior, putting a small wooden table between them. Sloane handed a cigarette to the woman and lit her own before handing her the lighter. She inhaled deeply before blowing out a large breath of smoke. A small laugh slipped from Dr. Bordenson's mouth as she blew smoke from her nose, putting the lighter on the table.

 

“So, does it bother you when you smoke, considering your father died from lung cancer?” Dr. Bordenson asked, knowing the question was a little bit bold, but it was her job after all.

 

Sloane didn't respond with surprise, probably having expected that question.

 

“A little at first. But... it more reminds me of how mom didn't go the funeral and wasn't really there for him in his last days... I had to get my Aunt Daria, his sister, to take me to see him. He would always tell me how proud of me he was that I hadn't given up on my art. He hated my step-dad as much as I did. He just was the last person to really seem to give a shit about me. Once he passed, well, it was really hard to believe in anyone else. It was like... I could only really believe in my art because he wouldn't have wanted me to stop.” Sloane stopped for a minute taking a ragged breath.

 

“I've tried to maybe make a bust of him or something in memoriam to him but, everytime I try, I can't do it. I just start crying and end up breaking things. Luckily, it usually happens at the studio and it's things I can fix or just replace. And Basil or someone stops me before it gets too bad... Do you think I'm a ticking bomb?” She muttered the last part, looking to her psychiatrist with tears in her eyes.

 

Dr. Bordenson was usually very good at separating herself from her clients, but over time Sloane had started to feel like a daughter to her. She wanted to hug the girl but knew it was unprofessional. She just shook her head and took a drag from the cigarette.

 

“Of course not, Sloane. I think you just have many issues you're still working through. I think you still hold a lot of anger against your mother and maybe that is where your anger is stemming from. She wasn't there in your time of need or your father's time of need. Maybe you still hold her accountable for leaving him. You may not realize it but your subconscious may be telling you it's all her fault that his lung cancer got as bad as it did, that you may believe he gave up after she left him and so, in turn, did his will to live. Half the fight against disease is a person's will to survive.

 

“I don't want you giving up Sloane. You still have much to do with your life. I want you to focus on the now for the time being.”

 

Sloane nodded her head slowly as she finished off the cigarette and went to light up a second one.

 

“Well, right now Basil is being harassed by my neighbor about what I'm up to and why I'm never in the building lately. The FBI didn't want my accident getting any recognition in the news, but she saw me with Agent Graham and Dr. Lecter one day when I went to get my things and Atlas. Atlas is probably the only thing keeping me from going stir crazy with these past couple of weeks...”

 

Dr. Bordenson nodded, writing something down in that pesky notebook of hers again.

 

“This neighbor, are you worried about her showing up at your art show?”

 

Sloane made a face as she took a drag of the cigarette between her lips, making Dr. Bordenson wait for an answer.

 

“Kind of, but that's why I sent out invitations only instead of putting it in any of the local papers. Well, because of her and the killer of course...”

 

“Is there someone who will be watching the door to make sure she doesn't show up?”

 

It felt like an interrogation, but Sloane knew better and knew that the good doctor was just trying to help. Her mind went back to the conversation she'd had with Detective Crawford and she wanted to mentally groan.

 

“Not exactly, but Detective Crawford and some of his people will be there. So I'm sure if they see her, they'll promptly escort her out. I won't have her making my guests uncomfortable. I can't let this affect my standing in the community. I guess that's where Detective Crawford and I can actually make some headway in making sure this whole thing stays secret for as long as possible.” Sloane had that nine-mile long look in her eye as she recollected the rather long discussion of what she was comfortable with and what she didn't have a choice about.

 

This whole situation really was starting to get on her last nerve when it came to interrupting her actual work. How she'd managed to get her pieces done in time, she wasn't sure. The embers in the cigarette burned as she gazed out the window. Dr. Bordenson coughed, getting the young woman's attention again, causing her to jump a bit.

 

“Sorry, this whole debacle really hasn't given me much place to be myself and be comfortable.”

 

The apology was sincere even if her response sounded a bit robotic.

 

“It's quite alright. I'm just worried about how all of this is effecting you in the long run. The accident with your step-father was not exactly conducive to a healthy relationship. Granted, I'm not sure you could have had a healthy relationship with the man, if not for your opinion of him compared to your father then at least in the way he treated you. But, none the less, it is good to see you forming a bond of friendship with a man besides your friend Basil. I believe this is a step in the right direction for you, Sloane. Your feelings for Dr. Lecter, as befuddling as they may be for you, also seem to stem from more than just your condition it would seem.”

 

Sloane looked up at her psychiatrist suddenly, her face painted a violent shade of red.

 

“Why in the seven levels of hell would you ever say such a thing?” Ahe whispered it so softly that the older woman almost didn't hear her.

 

Dr. Bordenson looked perplexed for a moment before it dawned on her that Sloane didn't recognize what her own feelings were. Maybe she'd never actually felt them before, the one chance of a boyfriend had been so young and short lived for the young woman after all.

 

“Sloane, what you're feeling is more than lust. I believe the romantics would word it as, you're falling in love. It's not a bad thing at all to experience.”

 

The blonde's jaw lay on the floor for a few moments as she processed the words, unsure how they could possibly be true. She pulled her jaw off the floor before finally deigning to give the quite preposterous diagnosis, in her opinion, of course, a response.

 

“That's insane! I don't fall in love with people! I don't think you're wrong about many things, but this is one of them. I'm sure if I slept with him all these things I'm feeling would go away.”

 

“Well then why don't you?”

 

“I've told you! He's very much not interested and I'm not looking to have sex with someone just because they feel bad for me!” Sloane practically shouted, jumping up to feel bigger.

 

Dr. Bordenson stayed in her chair, finally finishing off the cigarette and stumping it out into the ashtray.

 

“Have you thought about having sex with anyone else?”

 

The questioned burned like a flaming arrow had been shot past the young woman.

 

“No! But I haven't had the time! I'm either working, eating, sleeping, or avoiding being killed by some crazy asshole!”

 

“You're around him often and claim you will take any challenge. But you don't personally know his feelings, you're only assuming. Are you sure it isn't just a fear of rejection and lack of reciprocation of what you're feeling?”

 

“For the love of God! Yes!”

 

“Then have sex with him.”

 

“It isn't that simple!”

 

“If this is a simple case of lust, then yes it is. Sloane, I've been your psychiatrist for quite a long time and I know you and how your mind works. It may not be conceivable for you right now, but it is possible for even nymphomaniacs to feel and fall in love with another person. Sex used to be nothing but a game for you when it came to people. Granted, your subconscious craved it so that you could feel affection without needing to fully root yourself into a person, but now you're craving one specific person. You want him and you are too scared to go for him.”

 

A drag of a cigarette and Dr. Bordenson was adjusting the ash tray, flicking ashes into it.

 

“You've always taken the plunge whether it'd come up with a bite or you'd come away with just wasted bait. Yes, your body still needs that constant satisfaction, but now your mind is searching for more from someone. It doesn't happen often for people like you because you do find satisfaction in those brief correspondences with multiple people. For some, that's all they need. But, it is possible to find more. I'm not going to tell you to go for it or not, it's not my place, but I'm not going to lie to you about what is going on with you either.”

 

The older woman locked eyes with her patient with a very serious look before finishing.

 

“I can give you the key to the door, but you have to be willing to see if it's the right one to the next part of your path. If you didn't want to solve this, you wouldn't still be seeing me. It's obvious, deep down, you want more out of life. All it takes is meeting the right person. Soul searching isn't always a person jumping from relationship to relationship, hoping to meet the one. Sometimes we don't even know we're looking. You're a bright young woman, Sloane. As they say, the world is your oyster, or something along those lines. Don't let what's going on around you affect your pursuit of happiness.”

 

Once Dr. Bordenson finished, Sloane sat in silence, staring at her. She sat there, the cigarette burning away between her fingers as her mouth sat tightly shut. She wanted to walk out and call the doctor a quack and tell her she was full of shit. She wanted to doubt every word that had come out of the woman's mouth. But one statement stood in her mind that made her realize that the older woman wasn't that off base. She'd never stopped coming to see her. No one forced her to come, there was no court order or overbearing person forcing her to go. She just, kept up the visits, invited the doctor to her art shows, met up for lunch if they couldn't meet because of a show. Her mind turned over all the words as if it were reading a book with only one or two sentences per page.

 

She hadn't tried to have sex with Dr. Lecter. She was too scared to even flirt with him. He was like Moby Dick, except she hadn't even tried to chase after him. Sloane had just accepted that it wasn't something she should push for and just keep to herself. Maybe she had been scared of being rejected by him. Maybe she was scared that her emotions would be dismissed as nothing but some sort of survival instinct because she wanted more than just sex. Her bottom lip trembled as she began to accept the cold hard truth. She felt something more than just a sexual attraction to someone.

 

But, she couldn't even bring herself to try and see if there was a chance of reciprocation because of her fear that there wouldn't be any. In her mind, he was only around because someone wanted to kill her, and she believed the minute that ended she'd never see him again. Maybe Will every now and then since they'd seemed to have formed some sort of kinship, but not Dr. Lecter.

 

Hannibal Lecter. Dr. Lecter. Hannibal. Murder husband of Will Graham.

 

Sloane let out a low groan as she sank back into the chair and looked at the carpet. She was so sure it was all in her head. So sure he was just being polite and doing the “right thing” that she hadn't noticed her own feelings forming an attachment to someone she had barely gotten to know. She barely knew a thing about him and yet she'd lived in his home out of his own hospitality. He knew so much about her but she didn't even know what he liked to do in his free time besides cook.

 

“I don't... have to tell him, do I?” Her eyes slowly dredged up to look into those all knowing orbs that had sat and watched her in silence, patient as ever.

 

“That's up to you. How would it make you feel?”

 

A knot formed in her stomach.

 

“Anxious, scared, unsure... I feel like a high school girl. This is disgusting... I barely know him and I've been staying in his home for weeks. He probably thinks I'm dreadful and rude.” Another groan followed as she slumped forward, face falling into her hands.

 

Dr. Bordenson watched, hands folding neatly on her lap.

 

“You've gone through a traumatic experience and are still suffering from the ordeal so I'm sure he can tell you're scared. You have lived a very certain lifestyle up to this point and are having to conform to certain rules you would usually laugh at. I'm sure even he can see that. I'm not going to put pretty words around it to soften the blow, Sloane. You've got someone trying to murder you, you'd be a fool to act anything but irrational and untrue to certain behaviors you usually followed. He's a psychiatrist first and foremost. Try not to look at things as you would expect others to hold you to. He's only known you after your accident and since you've had to live with the knowledge that someone out in the world wants to end your life. I highly doubt he's going to accredit much of your behavior as normal or rational for you.”

 

Sloane knew the words were supposed to be a form of comfort but they only embarrassed her more as she thought back on some of her actions and how she'd taken some of her aggression and frustrations out on those around her because of the circumstances. She looked to her psychiatrist who had a look of genuine concern on her face.

 

“You're right... I just, can't see myself acting on anything since after things are resolved it'll be 'Bye Bye Birdy' for me.”

 

Dr. Bordenson straightened her back and glanced at her watch.

 

“Well, it's all up to you Sloane. I'm afraid our time is up this week, but I will be happy to see you at your art show tonight.” The woman smiled, standing and shaking Sloane's hand before leading her to the door and letting her out.

 

Sloane was happy to see the waiting room empty for the moment, meaning no one heard her little tantrum. Most likely.

 

She headed for the parking lot to go straight to her studio and prepare for the show tonight. She was beyond nervous and had packed a day bag of what she'd be wearing and any materials she'd need to get ready with when she was done setting up. The drive to the studio gave her time to consider Dr. Bordenson's words as she gave a small sigh. She was falling in love with Hannibal Lecter, or at least getting there and it didn't seem there was much she could do about it. He'd be at the show tonight, but she couldn't bring herself to even say how she felt out loud, much less tell anyone else. Well, Basil would probably find out if he hadn't already figured it out by now, insightful bastard. She parked in her designated spot and grabbed her things as she'd headed inside, locking her car door and the studio door behind her, turning to see Basil and Tiffany already hard at work.

 

“How was Dr. Feel Good? Was she mad that her favorite patient played hooky last week?” Basil winked as he helped Tiffany move one of the statues.

 

He didn't looked it but he sure had strength, no matter how deceiving his muscles were. Sloane couldn't help but smile.

 

“She was just happy that I'm not six feet under just yet. She just seems more concerned, said I've not been myself lately. Turns out she smokes. She is excited for to see the gallery tonight. Even though she buys like once every few shows and it's usually YOUR paintings,” she retorted on the last part, looking to Basil in mock jealousy.

 

The man laughed as he adjusted his glasses.

 

“She's trying to butter me up and see if she can turn me straight.”

 

Sloane rolled her eyes as she picked up the clipboards for bidding and began placing them on a long table, making sure each one had a pen. Usually by the end of the night some of the drunk patrons had absconded with at least four of the pens.

 

“Whatever you say. Is the caterer going to be on time?”

 

Her question was met with silence and then the sounds of someone tapping on their phone before Tiffany piped up.

 

“Yes ma'am! They're on the way now!”

 

Sloane couldn't help but smile at Tiffany. The girl was so sweet and ambitious, she truly hoped that Tiffany would make it. She was certainly talented enough. She'd help set up the catering with a friend from her high school who now ran a catering company with family.

 

Time passed a lot more comfortably for Sloane as everything began to fall into place. There would be no running out of champagne and wine, thanks to Tiffany's efforts to ensure that no detail could run afoul. Sloane would miss the girl once she graduated. The food was perfect. A couple of hors-d'oeuvres and some desserts that even a french chef couldn't turn his nose up at. Basil, with his surprisingly low maintenance self-preparation process was able to assist Sloane in getting ready as she had always needed a bit more help. Like her works of art, she always wanted to look perfect. He brushed her hair for her as she began amending parts of her makeup to better fit the evening. She would have to go the night on what food was brought in and what she'd snuck out before going upstairs to get ready. It would be enough as long as she paced herself on the champagne, which was never a well-kept promise.

 

Her hair was braided from both sides before being wrapped up into a tight chignon, a hair comb with an ornate gold leaf design being placed into the side to shimmer under the light. Her eye makeup was a pure and bright gold that highlighted the flecks of white in her grey eyes. Sloane had resolved for a soft pink to decorate her lips as not to be overbearing in contrast to the light metallics she'd decided on. Even her eyeliner seeming to glitter a bit. The scratch on her cheek was mostly healed, but she was lucky to have her bangs to cover what remained of it. Her hands were covered in little silver lines here and there that wouldn't be overtly noticeable when compared to the coal black nail polish that adorned each nail perfectly.

 

Everything would be perfect. Her dress was made of almost nothing but champagne colored lace with a form-fitting slightly lighter slip underneath to enhance and show off the curling patterns of the dress. The sleeves hugged her arms and stopped just below her wrists, the neck of her dress hugged her throat and the skirt flowing down over her legs and dusting the edge of her shoes. It was perfect in every way, shape and form. Her shoes finished off in a matte nude color that gave her about four inches of height with a thin heel that made her feel more confident and powerful than she'd felt in a while.

 

This was her night to have control. And no one could take that away from her. Basil had gone a different route with a tailored coal black color that matched her nails, his shirt a dark grey in contrast while his tie was a matching shade of champagne to her lace, his usual red glasses replaced by frameless half-moon glasses. His hair lay loose on top of his head as if purposefully messy. If no one had known the two, they'd look like the most fashionable couple in Baltimore.

 

“Shall we, Miss Flemming?” Basil crooned, offering his arm to her.

  
“Of course Mr. Cortez~”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this chapter, I was worried it would be boring or slow.
> 
> Feel free to review if you have suggestions and give me kudos.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Art show gone wrong? Find out more below.  
> All the characters of Hannibal are not owned by me, any other character is mine though.

Sloane enjoyed her gallery showings. They were fun social events that made her money, and sometimes a new lover. However, none were more enjoyable than those showings she was able to share with her best friend.

 

Sloane and Basil made their way down the stairs, descending at their own pace, knowing the art gallery would already be filling with people at this time. She'd texted Will for a few moments as he let her know they'd all arrived but she'd had to cut the conversation short in order to “stop moving your head so much so I don't stab you with any god damn bobby pins you god damn bobble head,” as Basil had put it so nicely.

 

Once they walked out of the door that led to their studio, Sloane saw the gallery already near capacity. Almost all of her guests had arrived. Her eyes searched the crowd as Tiffany rushed up to stand beside the two in her little silk black dress to compliment the mess of red curls spilling around her face. She'd even made the dress herself. Sloane glanced to her, surprise and pride showing on her face, making Tiffany gush and smile before coughing to introduce them and getting everyone's attention.

 

“May I have your attention, please. Let us all give a gracious welcome to our generous hosts of the evening and local artists who are responsible for the pieces you'll be seeing tonight! Miss Sloane Flemming and Mister Basil Cortez! Also, as many of you may not know twenty-five percent of proceeds tonight will be going to local art programs, so please bid generously.” Tiffany had been practicing the introduction for about a week and it hadn't gone to waste.

 

Sloane smiled and nodded to the girl that she'd done well before stepping forward.

 

“We hope you enjoy your evening and help yourself to the refreshments. Tonight's theme for the gallery is “War” and “The Fall of Man”. Don't forget to sign our guest book and please everyone, enjoy yourselves!” Sloane made a sweeping gesture with her arms, putting on her biggest public smile and demeanor.

 

Everyone clapped and a few cheered, although Detective Crawford still didn't look like he could enjoy himself to save his life. He wore the same black suit she'd met him in which made her internally wince. He looked like the last person that would be at the gallery, even if you paid him. Her eyes found Will who still looked adorably out of place, even in a suit. Poor guy had probably never met a tailor in his life. Her eyes dredged over Alana Bloom disappointedly before falling on Beverly Katz and she brightened up a bit to see the woman and another girl with her with brown hair and soft brown eyes that matched.

 

Sloane elected to go over to them first since she actually kind of liked Beverly and was curious who the girl was with her. Basil had already slipped off to woo some patrons and get champagne. She walked up to them and held out a slender hand.

 

“Beverly, I'm so glad you could make it and actually see me in top form. And who is your beautiful companion?”

 

The girl blushed a bit and held out a hand.

 

“I'm Abigail Hobbs... I'm a... friend of Will's. It is nice to meet you.”

 

Her voice was so soft that Sloane couldn't help the smile that bloomed genuinely on her face.

 

“How wondrous. You look wonderful in burgundy, by the way,” she complimented, taking in the sweater dress the girl hid in.

 

Beverly had settled for a simple black dress. But it did compliment her figure. The two women had at least put forth more effort than Detective Crawford, which Sloane very much appreciated.

 

“It's so great to see you, well, more put together. Your art is quite beautiful, your friend Basil is quite talented too. It may not be the best circumstances, but this is a nice outing,” Beverly stated in her matter-of-fact tone, swishing a glass of wine.

 

The three women chatted as Sloane showed them the gallery, giving them little fun facts about the materials used to make the different works of art. She acquired a flute of champagne from one of the caterers walking around and was quick to begin sipping it down as she chatted. People were frequenting the table to make bids and it made Sloane warm inside, or maybe that was the champagne. Things were going well and it just seemed to be getting better.

 

“Sloane Flemming, you minx!” A voice caught her attention as she stood with Beverly, Abigail and Will, who had  joined them as she was telling them about her bust of the goddess Artemis.

 

She turned to see a tall tanned man with curly black hair held back by a pony tail walking over to her in a suit that rivaled Dr. Lecter's own. His accent sunk in and her eyes widened as she smiled and hugged the man.

 

“Hugo, what're you doing here? I didn't think you'd RSVP!” She chirped happily, accepting the kisses on the cheeks from the man.

 

“I was in the country and couldn't help myself. I always love your work. It'd be rude of me not to drop in,” he crooned, still clutching her hands and looking down at her.

 

Sloane suddenly realized her little group was looking at her and she blushed, giving a little chuckle.

 

“I'm so sorry everyone. This is Hugo Dupont. He's an architect from France. We met at a show in Milan and he's been a fan of my work ever since,” she gushed, taking a sip from the glass before looking to him as he lightly squeezed her arm.

 

“A fan of more than just your art darling~” he crooned again, winking down to her.

 

“This is the French patron you told me about, Sloane?”

 

The deep, smooth, familiar voice pulled her from her bubble as she turned bright red. She turned once more and saw Dr. Lecter walking up to her. He'd called her Sloane... Not even a Miss in front of her name.

 

“Er, yes. This is Hugo Dupont. Basil drew in a mosaic scene in a pool he once designed,” she pressed, keeping a smile on her lips.

 

Beverly and Abigail slipped away quickly once they felt the awkward tension, leaving Sloane in a triangle of awkward. Will looked as if he wanted to pull her out of it, but didn’t quite know the social cue to accomplish it.

 

“Really now? I was thinking of putting in a pool soon. Care to tell me more?” Dr. Lecter proposed in his usual composed manner.

 

Sloane had been dead wrong. Hugo may wear the price tag, but Dr. Lecter truly wore his suits instead of letting them wear him. She bristled as Hugo agreed before giving her a long look. She watched as the two men walked off towards the bidding table, talking as if they were old comrades. Will gave a long whistle, hands in his pockets.

 

“You think he could be a suspect?” Detective Crawford cut in, appearing between the two without even footsteps of warning to his close presence.

 

Sloane needed to put a bell on these fucking men. She gritted her teeth so as not to retort with something snarky before taking a breath to give him a more polite answer.

 

“I doubt it. He'd sooner marry me than kill me. Beautiful babies, he says. That's why I stopped sleeping with him and stopped visiting him in Nice. Told him I was busy whenever he came to the country.”

 

She tried to ignore the gruff grunt of the man before he walked off. Will gave her an apologetic smile and a little shrug as she sipped a bit more of her champagne, throat parched.

 

“He means well. Really,” Will attempted, looking at her with genuine sympathy.

 

Sloane smiled before feeling a weird sluggishness slide through her body. Black spots began to dance in front of her eyes, the near empty flute of champagne dropping to the floor with a crash.

 

“Sloane?!”

 

Her legs buckled from under her and she couldn't even see who'd saved her from hitting the cold, marble floor. She heard a rush of people and Basil yelling her name before blacking out. Her mind went blank as the last thing she felt was a burning in her throat as it began to swell shut.

 

–

 

_Damn it._

 

Sloane felt resistance as she tried to open her eyes. She heard a rhythmic beeping, a stinging in her arm and....something on her finger? What?

 

Dizziness. Blackness.

 

Hospital. She was in the hospital.

The beeping of a heart monitor registered in her mind and she groaned as she finally recognized the needles in her arms and the small clamp on her forefinger as the pulse monitor. Her body felt heavy and sluggish. What had happened? And why did she feel so drained? Sloane tested her fingers, making sure each one could move before testing if she could adjust herself. She looked around and looked up to the television to see Project Runway playing a re-run. All the lights in the room were out, but a light was coming in from the window even with the blinds down to block out too much light.

 

She looked over to a table near her to see a remote that controlled a lamp that sat just out of her reach. She reached for the remote, clicking the button that would turn on the light and give her more visibility in the strange, sterile room. Once she could see more of her surroundings she picked up the remote that had the bed controls on them and made it so she could sit up and actually see everything. There was a bouquet of purple calla lilies on the table, making her smile. Basil had gotten Sloane her favorite flowers. He really was her best friend. She saw a large card sitting on the table as well and decided to pick it up and read it.

  
  


_Dear Sloane,_

_By the time you wake up I'll have already left. Mon cherié, it was a pleasure to see you and I wish I could've stayed. You are as beautiful as the day I met you and I wish you a speedy recovery. Feel free to let me know next time you're in the country. They wouldn't let me in so, I had to have Basil put the card in your room._

_Avec Tout Mon Amour,_

_Hugo_

  
  


Sloane sighed as she closed the card, genuinely feeling bad. She could never reciprocate his feelings, plus she was sure if he ever knew more about her he'd go running for the hills. She wasn't given time to think too hard on it as the door opened and Basil walked in quietly with a hot cup of coffee. She could hear him trying to woo the male nurse who didn't look anywhere near interested.

 

“Oh good, you're finally awake. I'll go get the doctor,” the male nurse said, sounding less enthusiastic about her being awake, and more interested in getting away from Basil's flirting.

 

The man watched the nurse leave before sitting next to his friend.

 

“Hmph. Straight men.” His attentions turned to her as he pulled her into a hug, holding her close to him tightly. “Oh! Thank god you’re awake. I'm so sorry for leaving your side, I needed coffee and to not look a hot mess when you eventually woke up. Jesus fuck I was so scared,” he rasped before Sloane realized he was crying and she placed a hand on his shoulders, leaning her head against his.

 

“Thanks, but think you can give me a rundown of what happened?” She croaked, her voice rasping itself out as she hadn't had anything to drink in...well, she wasn’t sure how long.

 

“I can answer that,” an unknown voice said, making her clutch onto her friend tighter before she realized it was just a doctor.

 

The male nurse from earlier was behind him with a tray of food. He quickly placed it down and left, leaving the doctor to take care of everything. Basil reluctantly let her go so the man could check her vitals.

 

“Good afternoon, I'm Dr. Bastion. You were drugged Miss Flemming, and as it unfortunately turns out, you're highly allergic to rohypnol. Though, no one can exactly get upset for you not knowing that,” he said, checking her pupils.

 

Sloane glanced to Basil as if for some explanation, looking confused.

 

“You got roofied, sweetie.”

 

She went slack, eyes wide as she looked at the doctor and her friend in fear. Of all the things that had happened to her, this was a first. And then for her to be allergic to the drug that she would have had no way of knowing about, it just made the situation ten times worse.

 

“It is believed this happened to one of your drinks from earlier in the night. By the time your body realized what it had ingested the rohypnol was already in your blood stream, unfortunately. So, when your body tried to expel anything it could in an effort to protect itself,” he trailed off to let his patient draw her own conclusions. “Luckily for you, your friend here has a peanut allergy and had an epi-pen with him. We'll keep you one more night and see how your body is doing, but we'll most likely release you tomorrow. The police will be by soon to take your statement per Hospital policy in cases where an attempt to drug another takes place. Please, try to eat and drink as much as possible as well. Your body is very depleted and dehydrated at the moment.”

 

With that, the doctor left Sloane in the wake of a flood of information. Who had drugged her? Why had they drugged her? She picked up the glass of water and took a long gulp, feeling the thirst that had woken with her, as if she'd been wandering a desert for days, finally dissipate slightly.

 

“It was the guy... They asked everyone who was there and interrogated all the caterers and Tiffany. She cried. She's really fucking spooked. Well, I think everyone is. Will says he must've slipped it in one of the glasses you had while no one was looking. But no one saw anyone who looked off. They didn't have anyone watching the guest book... but he signed it... The Curator... Detective Crawford is furious they missed him. I'm so sorry Sloane... I should've, I…,” he started blubbering, crying again as he swiped at his eyes, causing his glasses to go askew.

 

Sloane reached out a hand and gripped his wrist to get him to stop, looking at him sympathetically. Basil froze, looking up to his friend, a look of shame in his eyes.

 

“You can't blame yourself Basil, we knew there was a possibility he would show...just, no one knew that something like this would happen. Come on, tell me some good news, bro. How'd the auction go before I... ya know...” She trailed off and looked down at her hospital coverings.

 

He gave her a little smile, wiping his face and fixing the ostentatious ruby glasses before taking a slow and shaky sip of coffee. Sloane took that moment to take in his unkempt appearance. His hair was more disheveled than usual and his grey sweater was rumpled telling he'd slept here at the hospital.

 

“Well, Hannibal beat out Hugo on your bust of Artemis, with a bid of 850,000 USD. They went back and forth quite a bit on it once Hugo got the conversion rates down. He actually tried to begin the bid in Euros, ‘just for old times’ sake’.” Basil crooned, wiggling his eyebrows at his companion.

 

Sloane flushed as she opened up the pudding cup, trusting it more than all the other food right now.

 

“Whatever…,” she muttered, shoving a spoonful into her mouth defiantly as she knew he wanted more information out of her than the blithe dismissal.

 

Basil chuckled as he sipped his coffee, cheering up a bit to see the old Sloane. He continued to tell her that almost everything was sold, her full body statues selling for upwards of a million and more each and how his paintings had done well too. His mood soured though as a slow groan slipped out of his lips.

 

“I do have one bit of bad news though... It would seem Lounds the Hell Hound found out what happened to you. I don't know who she paid, but you definitely can't come home until after this is all over now... I'm sorry, Sloane.”

 

She squeezed his hand again and smiled to him.

 

“Hey, it's not your fault. Just avoid her as much as possible, ok? I don't want her dragging you into this as well.” Her words made him smile a bit sadly, both leaning their heads against the other.

 

“Dr. Lecter has been worried sick about you.”

 

“Shut up.”

 

The two laughed and decided to watch the Project Runway reruns together. Will came in a little later to find the two debating the finer points of the show.

 

“It's good to see you awake.”

 

The look of relief and guilt on his face made Sloane scrunch up her nose.

 

“I've been over this with Basil, it's no one’s fault. We didn't know this would happen. I'll just... be cooking for myself more often now,” she chuckled at her own little joke, drinking some of Basil's spiked coffee.

 

He was her enabler and she would take that to her grave because she didn't know what she'd do without him.

 

Will looked between the two before looking to the bouquet of flowers. “Oh, who brought those?”

 

“I don't know-” Basil began just as Sloane said, “Basil-”

 

The two friends looked at each other.

 

“I didn't get them for you,” Basil said, blinking owlishly.

 

“Then who would know my favorite flower? I've only ever told you.”

 

Basil shrugged with a knowing look on his face.

 

“You do know.”

 

“Of course not! I just think it's cute you think only I can buy you calla lilies.”

 

Sloane made a face and just hoped they weren't from her killer. Basil had said there was someone stationed in front of her door at all times. At this point it didn't seem to mean anything. He seemed to know something she didn't though so she was sure he knew who it was. Will looked between the two before taking a seat in one of the chairs.

 

“Well, it seems your secret is out, unfortunately. Freddie Lounds was trying to bargain with your doctor and Detective Crawford had to chase her off. She wants to talk to you. I won't repeat what she said exactly...”

 

Will's voice trailed off before Sloane reached out a hand to him and squeezed the closest one to her without pulling on anything.

 

“Hey, it's cool. It was bound to happen... Where's Dr. Lecter?”

 

Basil snickered at his friend's reluctance to ask about her little man crush. Will's eyebrows perked up in surprise as he realized it was one of the few times he'd heard her actually ask about him by name.

 

“He's uh, he said he'd be here shortly after I talked to him. Jack's upping the security on you. I'm sorry. He said after the other night, he can't exactly take any chances on your life.”

 

“Wait... other night? Didn't this happen last night?”

 

Sloane's eyebrows knit together as Basil and Will looked at each other with concern before looking back to her.

 

“You've been sleeping for two days now, Sloane. It's Saturday.”

 

Her face melted into a look of exhaustion as she pulled her hands into herself and let her face fall into them, close to her ample chest. Both men looked at each other again before placing a hand on either side of her back to rub soothingly.

 

“This is so fucking stupid. I'm an adult damn it,” she groaned, forcing herself not to start crying.

 

The door opened softly, letting in cold air from the halls. The artificial breeze caused the two men to look up defensively, as Sloane swiped at her eyes with a small hiccough.

 

“You are awake. That is good.”

 

The voice made her look up as she saw Dr. Lecter in the doorway in one of his stupidly gorgeous suits. Blue plaid with a tie that somehow had the same pattern. Who was this guy’s tailor? How could blue plaid look classy? She pushed that battle out of her mind to save for another day. For once instead of embarrassment or lust, Sloane felt relief. She couldn't explain it but out of all the bad news, she was just happy to see him. She gave a small laugh, wiping at her face.

 

“I'm not really sure at this point if good is the word to use... It's kind of all a black blur. I don't even really remember if I dreamt of anything.”

 

Her eyes met his for a moment as she sounded very uncertain about the passage of time. She felt almost reassured by his presence and it was the strangest feeling. Sloane resisted the urge, but wanted to just reach out and hold his hand to assure her he wasn't going anywhere. She didn't notice the exchanged expressions between Basil and Will before the two abruptly stood up.

 

“Well shit, I need more coffee. I'm taking Will so he can help me carry enough coffee for all of us.” Basil winked to Sloane whose mood suddenly dropped as she was scared to be left alone, not knowing what she might accidentally say.

 

“Do not worry about me, I'm perfectly fine.” Dr. Lecter waved his hand as Basil gave him his seat, the two exchanging some little secret conversation that Sloane couldn't quite make out.

 

Without a chance to protest, the two disappeared and left her.

 

“Always up to something,” Hannibal said, but amended as Sloane just stared at him. “Your friend, Mr. Cortez, I mean.”

 

He took the seat next to her and Sloane could no longer find the energy to act as dynamic as she had for Basil. As the door shut she slumped against the bed, her head falling against the pillow.

 

“Mmm, yeah. He's a sneaky little shit... mmf, sorry for swearing,” she muttered, eyes shut as she just tried to focus on being able to hold a conversation, especially without blurting all the embarrassing things running through her drug addled brain.

 

Dr. Lecter glanced to the bouquet, a hesitant tenseness in his eyes before looking back to the exhausted young woman in front of him.

 

“It is quite alright, Miss Sloane. I don't think I've ever actually asked this, but how old are you?”

 

She peeked her eyes open up at him, having to use a bit of energy to form a furrowed brow before settling on the question not being that silly.

 

“Twenty-eight. I'll be twenty-nine in April.”

 

Sloane struggled to evaluate his reaction, not sure if her answer had damned her or not. His expression showed an earnestness that she couldn't understand no matter how hard she tried.

 

“You are so young, Miss Sloane, such tragedy is almost comically unfair.” Dr. Lecter spoke with such sincerity that it caused her to actually laugh.

 

It wasn't a loud or boisterous laugh like usual, but a soft giggle that seemed to sound almost bitter.

 

“Sometimes I think my life is one cosmic joke. I'm pretty, but I can't have or hold a relationship. I'm talented, but I can't even see my art the way everyone else does. I have a terrible relationship with what remains of my family. It's not even a relationship at this point since I refuse to speak to my mother after everything she put me through. She's too ignorant to see her own foolishness and how it's nothing but a cycle... Sorry, I talk about myself a lot. You must think I'm quite boorish in manner.”

 

Sloane jumped a bit as she felt his hand take hold of hers. She looked over to see his eyes gazing into hers with that same earnestness from earlier. She felt what color she had at the moment push itself into her cheeks as she tried to not feel trapped by those stupid, wisened old man eyes.

 

“Miss Sloane, you have been through a dark time and have had your life turned on its own head. It would be rude of me to think less of you simply based upon your actions while under such oppressive circumstances. To then assume it was only due to egocentrism on your part, well I would not be a credit to my profession, would I?” Dr. Lecter released her hand and seemed to realize how he was acting. “You need sleep as you are still very exhausted. I will pick you up tomorrow when you have been discharged. If you need anything at all, please do not hesitate to ask.”

 

If she’d had the energy to cry or fully react, she would have. This man put up with all of her mood swings and burdens of poor action and choices. She finally relaxed, knowing he was right. She was still tired, even being awake for an hour or so had taken more out of her than she would have liked.

 

“Can... please stay? And... hold my hand again? At least until I'm asleep...”

 

Her face flushed as the gorgeous man in his gorgeous suit chuckled at her before, finally, indulging her small request once more. He took her hand again as she let her head fall back onto the pillow. She couldn't bring herself to put forth the effort to eat anything else after being drugged at her own party. And whatever they did to save her had left her well and truly exhausted. Sloane let her eyes slide shut and her hand grasped onto his as tight as she could manage, before sleep took over.

 

She'd get to go home tomorrow, to Dr. Lecter's home... Hannibal's home.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Avec Tout Mon Amour translates to With All My Love
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Gonna finally start making this a dynamic thing, and feels, and death. I mean, what?


	9. Goodnight Moon, Goodnight Earth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I own none of the characters of Hannibal, only Sloane, Basil and Atlas.
> 
> Tragedy strikes in the form of death and Sloane doesn't take it so well.

“She's using you Hannibal. How do we know she didn't drug herself or that she hasn't been doing all of this for attention?” Alana Bloom's voice boomed in the hospital hallway, not caring who overheard her.

 

Hannibal frowned to his co-worker and once lover. Once.

 

“How?” He asked calmly and evenly, as if working with a patient and not a colleague. “The Curator has killed again, and not his usual victims. The victims were a friend of hers and a former classmate from a collegiate class.”

 

That sentence immediately quieted the woman which gave Hannibal an unexpected pleasure. He was not looking forward to sharing that news, but Alana had been unsure about this case from the beginning. Since the day she'd met Sloane she had questioned if any of what was going on was truly the work of The Curator. He tried, but it had slowly gotten to the point of getting where her accusations were hitting nerves. While the woman thought she meant well and was looking out for him, instead she was merely letting her feelings cloud proper judgement of a victim.

 

“When were they found? When was anyone going to tell me?” Alana sounded almost incredulous, lips pursing in frustration. That had always been a bad habit of hers when she was unhappy.

 

“They were found last night as Will and I were leaving the hospital. We did not want to tell her until modus operandi and motive were verified; however, Will is certain this was an act of spite. A note was found. It is his way of showing his feeling of success, in my professional opinion. He is simply taunting her at this point.”

 

Alana’s jaw hung agape. Words tried to form on her lips as Hannibal watched her struggle now. He was gauging her reaction as an outsider, and one coming from a rather a negative outlook as well. Shock, speechlessness, and...helplessness. If this was the reaction of a psychologist, and one who dealt with death on a daily basis, then he would need to further prepare himself for a more explosive reaction from Sloane.

 

He wondered in that moment if he could go without telling her for a bit. She'd find out from Will most likely then. Who would she want to hear it from more? Probably no one at all.

 

“What did the note say?” Alana finally choked out.

 

A long sigh escaped Hannibal's lips. He would at least wait until they made it back to his home. A small part of him warmed at having her safe in his home. She was out of reach that way.

 

“Merely:

 

_'No one will ruin you now. You're safe for me. Safe from this filthy world of mankind._

_-The Curator'_

 

Jack questions his previous judgement, and is considering the possibility of a female suspect. Will is positive it is a man. I, myself, am prone to believing it is a man with his barbaric strategy and sudden jealousy of men in her life.”

 

Alana's look of inner turmoil turned to one of concern.

 

“What about her friend Basil?”

 

Hannibal's lips turned into a grimace as he approached Sloane's hospital door.

 

“The victims were identified as men who purportedly made sexual advances on Miss Sloane. So I believe he is not in immediate danger. For the time being, at least.”

 

Hugo Dupont had tried to cover up a hedonistic nature in front of Sloane to try and impress her while the other victim had lamented upon his regrets. Hannibal had overheard the man moaning over never asking her out in college quite loudly, in fact.

 

Hannibal remembered the night her lips had brushed his, how she'd been so embarrassed and he'd only made it worse by diagnosing the situation. A small balloon of guilt floated inside of him as he'd pushed it off that this was all for the best. What was in her best nature was simply taking care of her and making sure she survived through this ordeal without another scratch on her. But...

 

Alana opened the door and walked in first before he followed behind to see the well-dressed Sloane he'd come to know. Unless going to sleep, Sloane prided herself on being perfectly coiffed and dressed to the nines and tens. Very few had ever seen Sloane in such a manner, but Hannibal had. At first she had been nearing uncomfort when he caught her in his kitchen, hair down and old clothing on in lieu of pajamas.

 

Now, she was more comfortable showing that vulnerability, that ease of living when she appeared around the house late at night in her sleeping clothes. It was almost as if it were some secret between them that was a silent promise to keep, and keep he had.

 

As he looked at her, her face still looked exhausted and a little gaunt from the whole experience as she feigned strength in front of her best friend, Basil. A bit of a martyr in front of everyone else yet she'd chosen to show him how she truly felt and how she blamed herself. She hadn't been eating anything unless it was clearly  packaged with the seal clearly intact and only drank what Basil handed her. It was a fair response but the lack of eating was taking its toll, even if just for a few days.

 

“Dr. Lecter.”

 

There it was. Her small voice fighting not to sound as exhausted as it actually was. Hannibal softened at the sound of it.

 

“I am here to bring you home.”

 

Her cheeks flushed with color, matching the red on Basil's glasses. Hannibal wasn't sure if he'd ever seen a girl blush so much in her life.

 

“I'm afraid we have some bad news, Miss Flemming.”

 

Hannibal bristled as Alana began speaking, face impassive but his body coiled with fury. This news was supposed to be shared in private. News he was supposed to break to her and more gently than someone so spiteful ever could. He saw Sloane's face physically grey as Alana broke the news to her. By the end of her unorthodox tale Basil looked like he may be sick while Sloane just seemed to turn to stone. Hannibal worried he would need a mallet and chisel to carve the stone away to find the terrified girl underneath.

...

 

The drive had been completely silent. Sloane hadn't said a word to Hannibal the whole time. Basil had been reluctant to let her go. She retreated to her room in silence as Hannibal cooked dinner. He'd never seen her so impassive. She hadn't cried, just sat silent and still as stone. It was irregular. Even after her accident she'd responded somewhat and even spilled things about herself that most didn't know.

 

Basil had decided it best to leave her on her own for a bit which was a change of pace for even him. Two people who were usually so vivid had faded. What had been a threat that had caused trouble but not yet killed near them was suddenly very real and very dangerous. Alana hadn't gotten the reaction she'd expected which had shown on her face as her expression quickly turned to remorse as she realized she had gone too far.

 

Sloane was completely silent upstairs except for the faint sound of music tinkling from her room. As Hannibal placed slivers of lamb on a plate for her he realized she probably wouldn't be in the mood for food, much less meat. He sighed and wrapped the plate up before heading up the stairs. As he came closer he began to recognize the music. Franz Schubert's, The Alder King sung out through the door in German. He frowned as he opened the door to see clothes laid out on the floor and the bathroom door wide open. Atlas came running out of the bathroom and licked at his pants leg before going and hopping on top of the bed as if to say, go on in. Hannibal debated for a moment before heading into the bathroom to see Sloane half slumped over the tub. The bathtub itself was filled with water and the lower half of her body was inside, but she seemed to have given up halfway through. Her eyes dredged up to look at his and there was no usual surprise. Just a drunken sadness. He saw the bottle of aged bourbon on the sink and internally sighed.

 

He looked over her bare skin as if for once seeing something he shouldn’t. Like a small child peeking into his presents before they were supposed to.

 

“Can you help me?”

 

The feeble voice caught him off guard as his eyes quickly looked to the young woman’s eyes again, pulled out of his absorption in her porcelain skin. It had indeed been her voice. Previously she had been embarrassed, angry, awkward, many things around him, but never defeated. Hannibal walked over to her, pulling a chair from the wall with him and sitting behind her, noticing an assortment of bottles on the floor.

 

“I... wanted to wash my hair,” she managed to whisper out as she pulled her body to lean against the back of the bath. Hannibal noted how he could still see her breasts and felt a need to avert his eyes and give her a form of privacy, well, as much as he could in this situation.

 

Sloane had gotten halfway through the first step but hadn't made it to getting the shampoo in her hair for the next step. Hannibal rolled up his sleeves and picked up the bottle. He squeezed a small amount in his hands, beginning to work his hands through her hair, her head tilting back into his hands. She was like a small deer, stuck in the fence and nervously trusting the first person who put their hands to help free her from her position.

 

“I am guessing you're familiar with the story of the Alder King.”

 

Her words were like small echoes in a pond.

 

“Yes, a bit of a morbid tale, but all tales have a moral at the end.”

 

Her head obediently went below the water to wash away the shampoo and suds, her hands on the side of the tub. A lack of grip alerting him to put his hands over hers so that she didn't slip under for too long. Finally coming up, she gingerly pulled a hand from under his, wiping the hair from her face. Hannibal pulled his hands away to add in the conditioner.

 

“It's never clear if his father was lying to comfort him or because he truly did not see those coming after his son. I guess, I can empathize with the son. He’s coming after me. No one ever sees him and I get stricken. Soon... I fear I may lose to him and no one will know until it is too late.”

 

Her words carved something into his mind that not even he could identify. It was concern, but fear? Maybe a need to protect her?

 

“Where are you from?”

 

The question caught him by surprise as he looked to see her head turned and her eyes looking into his. When had she become so bold? Had she always been like this?

 

“Lithuania.” That earned him a small nod.

 

He picked up the body wash and put some in a hand, beginning to wash her back as she obediently turned back to how she'd been sitting.

 

“Do you have any family there?”

 

It was only fair that she would want to know about him, she'd been with him for weeks and barely knew a thing about him.

 

“No, it is just me now.”

 

Another small nod. This one was a bit slower, almost hesitant. This was the most relaxed she'd ever been around him. She seemed to show how she truly felt in front of him as she had done in the hospital.

 

“Did you know Dr. Bloom is still in love with you?”

 

He could hear the hesitance in her voice as if she were scared of the answer. It was endearing as she fought herself on things. He felt her shoulders tensing up under his hands as he washed away the soap.

 

“She is not, that I am aware of. Though she may have been in times previous.” Her shoulders relaxed again. “In any case I no longer harbor romantic feelings for Dr. Bloom.” Hannibal felt the remaining tension in her shoulders, that hesitant twitch that told him she was not satisfied with some part of his answer, but which he could not say. He wanted her to return to that relaxed state, and, in a moment of irrational thought, said, “I had a sister once, back home. She was... killed by someone in my village.”

 

Silence spilled between them like a tipped over glass of milk. Sloane's body leaned into his hands as her head tipped back and hands reached up to cup his face. Her eyes bore into his as if they could see through him. Not even Will had seemed to see that far through him.

 

“I'm sorry about your sister.”

 

He said nothing, could say nothing as he watched her hair dance along the top of the water. Her hands slid from his cheeks, her eyes unmoving from his.

 

“Can I... can I call you Hannibal?”

 

The question seemed to make her come off as a bashful young girl as her cheeks pinkened. It was the first he'd seen of color in her face all day. Her small pink lips were like two flower petals in the morning, the water appearing like dew. A small smile lifted a corner of his lips.

 

“Of course you can.”

…

 

“Is this a dream?”

 

He chuckled at her question. “No, this is no fabrication of your mind.”

 

“Ok.”

 

They sat in silence as he helped her wash out the conditioner in her hair, his hands methodical in their work as her eyes shut and her lips parted. This seemed so much more simple than the full situation actually was. He wondered if she would eat for him. Maybe talking about other things would have distracted her enough.

 

She hummed softly as her head turned from side to side, washing away any residue. The moment was so perfect he couldn't find it in himself to spoil it. Maybe now things could be a little more natural between them. It was so fluid, so easy. Her body raised with him from the water as he wrapped a towel around her, as if they'd done it a million times before. Sloane clutched at the towel, trying to almost curl into it as the the tub began draining of water.

 

“Hugo introduced me to his mother once. She was really nice and made me a delicious tarte tatin, even. Now she'll never get the grandchildren she joked about. Not from him at least.”

 

Hannibal rubbed Sloane's back as she began to sniffle, following him out to the bed so she could sit down on the edge of the bed, his body following to sit next to hers. He let her lay her wet head on his shoulder as the tears finally came. Her cheeks turning bright red with heat as she wept. An arm wrapped around her as she cried and shook against him. All the emotions pouring out at once.

 

Words that could barely be made out slipped from her lips as she wept in sympathy and grief for her friend and former lover. Atlas curled up against his owner as she let everything out that she'd apparently been holding in. A hand rubbed her back comfortingly as she tried to deny any of it was possible. That it was all just a ruse from Dr. Bloom to hurt her. That it couldn’t be true, Hugo had said he would see her again. She cried and cried until finally the tears receded, her well of emotion was tapped out. Her body slumped against him as she breathed silently, still shaking.

 

“Sloane, you need sleep.”

 

Her body reacted sluggishly as she looked up to him, eyes puffy and swollen from crying so much.

 

“You called me Sloane. Just Sloane.” she rasped out, wiping at her face.

 

Hannibal gave her a small sympathetic smile. “It is only fair if you're going to call me Hannibal.”

 

A small sound slipped from the back of her throat and she gave a little nod before hiding her face again. “If I sleep, you have to stay here and make sure nothing bad happens...”

 

She was like a small child right now and yet wanted such adult things. It made him want to smile a bit that despite everything she still kept some of her spunk.

 

“Of course, dear Sloane.”

 

Sloane made a small sound and begrudgingly pulled away from him as she walked around the room, pulling on clothes while keeping the towel around her body. It was almost amusing, as if she wanted to hold some form of virtue, despite that he’d seen her nude form multiple times now. The towel was put away once a shirt was on her and she returned to the bed, slipping under the covers. Her hand interlocked with his as she finally laid down. The food all but forgotten--it could always be eaten tomorrow.

 

“Hannibal?”

 

“Hm?”

 

“Thank you, for staying by my side through all this. I know I've been super shitty and weird. I'm just, figuring out a lot of stuff as I go along.”

 

Hannibal responded, for once on just pure reflex and leaned forward, placing a small kiss on her brow.

 

“It is alright,” he whispered as she began to fade off, despite the little surprise. “Sleep, now.”

 

Sloane muttered something before finally beginning to doze, her hand tugging on Hannibal's as she did so.

 

“ _Life is strange_.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Franz Schubert's Alder King can be googled or looked up on youtube under the title Der Erlkönig.


	10. There's Small Choice in Rotten Situations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sloane just doesn't seem to have things ever go as planned. But it's funny, for me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyyy, I'm sorry I've been gone for an insurmountable amount of time. I promise I'm back on track with a plan. I've already got the next chapter started. I hope you enjoy this if you're still with me. Remember, R&R and don't forget to leave kudos and bookmark.

“I did not know you were a fan of red wines.” 

 

His voice still cut through her spine, even though she’d known he’d been there all along. 

 

“I like to think I have a taste for almost anything,” she mumbled, eyes grazing the glass before her absently.

 

Sloane finally reached a slender hand out and plucked a bottle from the establishment’s selection of reds. She wasn’t sure if he’d judge her for her choice, but 2007 had been a great year for wine in Spain after all. Or so Basil loved to tell her to defend his obsession with Bodegas Roja— which he’d only had once on a two week trip to Spain, because they weren’t filthy tourists, thank you very much. 

 

A few weeks had passed since she’d last left the house, but Basil had tempted her with a trip to the beach. Knowing Basil this meant wine on the beach in the middle of the night when no one was around and that was just fine with Sloane.

 

Dr. Lecter had insisted on driving her to a ‘special little place he frequented.’ It had turned out to be far more exclusive than she’d originally intended—more so than some bars she’d frequented. He’d made a disgusted, yet still slightly attractive face when she’d said she just wanted to go to a small grocery store. She’d have to remember to tell Basil later about the pretense of the whole thing and how it’d nearly made her guffaw in sheer surprise. His defense was to quickly suggest that it would be safer if they went somewhere that not just anyone could walk into.

 

Sloane looked at the bottle for a moment, staring at the label unseeingly. Her heart thrummed and her skin felt hot as if she were burning up from the inside out. Her eyes shut momentarily as a breath escaped her. It’d been a few weeks since she’d left Dr. Lecter’s house. It wasn’t from any demand, but her own choice after the events that had transpired. She’d memorized just about every nook and cranny of his home to pass the time. Basil had finally decided to convince her to go on one of their late night beach trips. While she’d been easily swayed, Dr. Lecter and his bunch had been a little less easily persuaded about her going somewhere unguarded. As uncertain as she was, Basil was right, she needed to go somewhere to calm her mind. Late nights on the beach with wine had always been their go to plan when relieving stress.

 

“Hannibal! What a surprise. I didn’t expect to see you here at such a time.”

 

The voice caught her by surprise as it was one she hadn’t heard before. Her head flicked up to see a blonde woman, closer in age to the aforementioned male, smiling at him openly, having not noticed Sloane at all. Her expression was slightly guarded as she held a bottle of Merlot that usually went for about $300, but price was rude to discuss. Not that Sloane couldn’t recognize a brand she received as a gift many times and usually shared with Basil over whatever cheese had accompanied it. A conversation spread through the aisle between the two psychiatrists. 

Sloane recognized them on sight by now. They all had a calculatingly curious look. Her nose wrinkled a bit as she went to turn and walk away before she was pulled into the conversation as if just remembered. 

 

“Oh, I apologize. Bedelia Du Maurier this is Sloane Flemming, she is an acquaintance of mine. I was just helping her pick out a bottle of wine.”

 

Sloane gritted her teeth but quickly threw on a smile, turning fully around to face the two. The woman was beautiful, no doubt. Sloane would have even tried to hit on her at one time, but she was so tired of psychiatrists and psychopaths. Everywhere she turned it was it was one or the other.

 

“ _The_ Sloane Flemming? Why, I’ve seen your work and it is very impressive Ms. Flemming. A few of my colleagues have been so lucky as to own some of your own pieces. I am sorry about what has happened to you as of late. Most unfortunate.”

 

Sloane wondered whether the woman had gotten her information from news or Dr. Lecter. She debated asking, then decided she preferred to not know the answer to that and just let the smile plaster across her face.

 

“It is quite alright. With any ounce of fame comes a chance of danger. I suppose I just got a lot more for my ounce this time.”

 

The look she received for that statement from Dr. Lecter was slightly withering and Dr. Du Maurier only seemed to grow more curious. Sloane pondered this new face. Had she ever seen him look at her like that? Maybe he was trying to be sensitive to her feelings? 

 

Gross. 

 

Sloane studied the bottle of wine in her hand, hoping she could drown in it with just a look, purposefully avoiding the gazes of the two in front of her.

 

“Well, I will have to commission something from you one day. Your sculptures are quite unmatched.”

 

The complement fell flat as Sloane looked to Dr. Du Maurier slowly, putting on a small, dimpled smile.

 

“I definitely have the time.” Her eyes rolled over the older female in front of her. In another life she would’ve gladly been interested in the woman. In her other life she’d have had Bedelia Duwhatever in a bed and glad for it within the hour, preferably with the taste of her wine on her lips. In another lifetime...

 

But in this life, she was just another doctor to diagnose her. And that was quickly becoming her least favorite type of profession. After all this she’d need a holiday away. Or maybe an extended vacation. Scratch that. She needed an island, far away. The sun beating down on her and waves crashing around her. Sloane chewed at her bottom lip as the two in front of her started to talk about something, she’d already tuned out.

 

Sloane wandered to another aisle that was full of whiskeys and one man. A man that looked slightly familiar. A mess of black hair that went off in a million directions and a beard of black and dark brown. She stared at him politely, in the way that tells people, “No, your pants are safe from me, I just kind of recognize you, but not enough to get a name yet…” 

 

She blinked and looked at his pants at the thought then shook her head. She need a name. She knew this man...

 

Then it came to her. This was her first art professor, from her freshman year of college. Her cheeks turned red, remembering hours or discussion, of going back and forth with Basil, taking bets on who would sleep with him first. They had of course both been unsuccessful, but the crush had been present and embarrassing now that she remembered who he was. He turned and those dark brown eyes looked to her and a light of surprise filled them.

 

“Sloane Flemming, well I’ll be damned.” 

 

“Professor Lawson, what a surprise! I didn’t know an art teacher’s salary could afford $250 bottles of bourbon,” she teased, putting on a smile.

 

The older man laughed as he walked over and ruffled her hair.

 

“Always the joker. And is your other half here? I’m almost scared to see Basil. You two always gave me a run for my money when trying to teach.”

 

Sloane flushed as she gripped the bottle of wine in her hands.

 

“Nah, just me today.”

 

“Sloane? Oh, there you are!” 

 

And on key, there was Dr. Lecter, to make this blush-worthy, clandestine meeting completely mortifying. Lawson’s eyebrows knitted together as the older man joined Sloane before he smiled at her sweetly.

 

“Is this your current boyfriend?”

 

A brilliant shade of red dotted her cheeks as she struggled to find words to string together. She couldn’t very well say,  _ this is the man I’m secretly in love with who I’ve been living with for the past couple months.  _ Before she could form anything worthy spewing, a strong warm arm slipped around her shoulders and squeezed her arm affectionately. She startled and looked up to see yet another new face transform the features of Dr. Hannibal Lecter. Had he no end to his repertoire? 

 

Sloane drank in the look of adoration gracing Hannibal’s face. When was the last time she’d felt his warm touch? Probably not since the hospital. Had she even felt this much of his warm skin then or was it the morphine? It’d been so long... 

 

“You’ve caught me. I am Hannibal Lecter, I met Sloane at one of her art shows and fell in love. With the art and her,” he chuckled cooly, extending a hand to shake Lawson’s.

 

Oh, this was mortifying, mostly because a small part of her wished those words were true, but also because now all she could think about was his hand on her arm.

 

“Professor CJ Lawson, I was Sloane’s art design professor in college. She does have quite a talented pair of hands. You’d better lock her down, she’s been a hot commodity even back in her college days.” The man joked, shaking Hannibal’s hand.

 

When had he become Hannibal to her again?  And did her professor just tell Hannibal Lecter to marry her? Could her night possibly get any worse? Her phone dinged at her and her stomach did a flip at the sound of Basil’s text tone. Sloane jumped a little in place as her spiralling thoughts crashed to a sudden stop, causing both men to look at her suddenly. Hannibal’s arm tightened around her reflexively.

 

“Are you ok, darling?”

 

Fuck, he’d just called her darling. 

 

“I’m fine, just my phone surprised me. Anyway, it was very lovely to see you Professor Lawson, you’ll have to come to one of my shows. I’ll make sure you get an e-mail! Anyway, have a goodnight!”

 

She hadn’t meant to be rude and cut the conversation short, but she wasn’t sure how much more of this charade her heart could handle. The way he said the word  _ darling _ had her stomach doing backflips. Her chest was red hot under the sweater.

 

Sloane walked away, knowing Hannibal would be right behind her within seconds. Once they had gone through the cash register and exited the store in silence, Sloane remembered she’d gotten a text and pulled her phone out, seeing it was from Basil.

 

_ From: Basil _

_ To: Sloane _

_ Message:  _

_ Hey, so guess whose boyfriend is now a bouncer for one of our favorite black holes? Tiffany’s! Forget the beach, we should go, like tonight! =D I already got her to text her boyfriend. We’re  on the list tonight so you can’t say no. Plus, you could see Sera~. I know it’s been a while for you, lovey. _

 

Sera. It had been a good while since she’d seen her. Her tongue poked out of her mouth and ran over her bottom lip thoughtfully. That could happen. But, she was on constant watch…

 

“Would you mind terribly explaining what happened in there? You seemed fine at first.”

 

Hannibal’s voice broke into her bubble as their car moved forward. No, this was Dr. Lecter’s voice. The adoring Hannibal darling was gone. He was replaced with a doctor’s concern. Her heart squeezed in her chest, maybe she should’ve let it play out after all. If only for that warm feeling and smile.

 

“Sorry, I know it was awkward pretending to be my boyfriend. And I’ve always been a terrible liar to Professor Lawson. He was probably one of my biggest crushes back in college, but I never actually slept with him… He had tenure, but I guess I just didn’t want it fucking up my future. I just thought we should leave before he got suspicious.

 

“Anyway, we have bigger fish to fry. Basil wants to take me out somewhere. Tiffany’s boyfriend is a bouncer for this place he and I used to frequent, and he got our names on the list for tonight… I know it’s a stretch but… could I go? Without any supervision, that is.”

 

Sloane couldn’t tell if she regretted her words or not. Hannibal just stared forward as he drove them towards his home. Silence filled the cab of the car as she stared at him from under her eyelashes, waiting for his response. His knuckles tightened and then released the steering wheel as if he were thinking of what to say and then discarding the thought. His face was a fortress, giving nothing away, inspiring little hope in her. 

 

“You know we can’t do that after what happened last time.”

 

His tone seemed to almost waver. Sloane chewed on her bottom lip, knowing he wouldn’t say anything else.

 

“I know I ask for a lot. But, this could be good for me. And it’s such a high profile place, no one gets in without being on the list. Plus, Tiffany’s boyfriend is a bouncer there. So if anything suspicious happens, he’ll notice. This isn’t a place where just anyone does anything without people seeing. Plus the location is top secret.”

 

Her fingers wrung the neck of the wine bottle in her hands as she waited for his response. The car filled with silence again as they sat there. 

 

“On one condition. Will or I must accompany you.”

 

And there was the clincher. Sloane thought of what she would be doing and paled. No, Hannibal couldn’t see her in that state. With Will, there may be room for distractions. Maybe. It would have to do. Will seemed to be more lenient with her anyway, so maybe there was wiggle room.

 

“Fine… Will it is. Just don’t expect hourly updates, phones aren’t allowed to be in use and have to be left at coat check.”

 

——

 

“…you have a lot of faith in a very paranoid person.” Basil laughed as they drove up Will’s driveway.

 

Sloane made a guttural groaning noise. 

 

“Well, it would just be much too compromising to have Hannibal there. You know that.”

 

“Oh, so he’s  _ Hannibal _ now~?” Her friend crooned, receiving another punch in the arm as he just laughed in retort.

 

Tiffany made a small squeak from the backseat, hands running over her knees making the two friends look back at their little assistant.

“Um, guys, we’re here. And Mr. Graham doesn’t look too pleased to not know what’s going on.”

 

Basil couldn’t contain his snorts and chortles as Sloane pulled herself from the car to walk out and drudge through the snow to the porch. He’d gotten dressed at least, and put on what appeared to be the nicest clothes he owned but Tiffany had been correct with the lack of amusement in his expression.

 

“Hey… buddy. So, I know you’re doing this to do your job, but we’re gonna have to lay down some ground rules. We’re not kidnapping you, I promise. You just… have to trust me.” 

 

Sloane winced a bit as Will let out a sigh, taking his glasses off and squeezing at the bridge of his nose to release tension. She teetered from foot to foot in place on spiked black stilettos as she waited for him to look at her as a breeze blew her hair in her face and against his as well. Maybe she should’ve put her hair up.

 

“…what kind of ground rules are we talking about here?”

 

Her leather gloved hands reached out to grab his and rub them in what was meant to be a consoling manner, not sure if she was trying to comfort him or herself as she broke the ice.

 

“Well, the first stipulation is, you have to leave your phone at the door and gun in the car.” She narrowed her eyes at him as his mouth opened. “Don’t tell me you don’t have it on you, I know better.” Will’s mouth shut with a click. 

 

“Also… you have to wear a mask while we’re there, and please try to keep next to Basil. If any of the patrons were to find out you are a nar- um, that you work with the FBI, it could be an issue.”

 

He just looked at her in his way. “Anything else?”

 

Sloane quickly rushed through the last rule. “You aren’t allowed to see how we get there so we’ll have to blindfold you…”

 

Her voice cracked on the last sentence as she tried to smile at him hopefully, holding onto his hands as tightly as possible so he couldn’t get away. The stern expression he gave her had a mix of concern in it as he squeezed her hands back.

 

“I have to ask you, are you taking me to a cult meeting?”

 

A small dry laugh escaped her lips as she swung their hands side to side, bouncing on her heels.

 

“Nooooo, no, of course not, well, you might think it is. It’s just… as far as Dr. Lecter knows, we’re going to a little party held by some friends of mine at a very exclusive bar. I promise, everything is above water. I swear it Will. Just, I really need this and it would mean the world to me. Please, Will?” She whimpered, poking out her bottom lip and bouncing again, squeezing his hands as tight as she could.

 

Will stared at her before glancing to the car behind her where Basil and Tiffany were about to burst out the doors, trying to see what was happening. He gave a resigned sigh and gave her a small smile.

 

“Well, if it’s really all above water, I guess it’s safe enough. Alright, I’m on board. But the minute anything seems suspect, we’re gone.”

 

The noise that came from Sloane was high pitched and most likely not human as she clung to him, wiggling. Before Will could change his mind, she’d pulled him to the car and shoved him in next to Tiffany. The young girl apologized as she took his glasses and put what must’ve been one of Basil’s ties—or so he thought it was from the outrageous design of pink tentacles on dark blue material—around his head to cover his eyes so he couldn’t see a thing.

 

“So sorry about this old sport, but you could use a little fun yourself with all this doom and gloom.” Basil’s laugh filled the car and tickled Will’s ears.

 

“So, why exactly did you not want Hannibal to come along if it’s not what I think it is?”

 

Basil’s laugh turned into a cackle and Sloane was stone silent.

 

“Oh, you’ll see when you get there. Don’t worry.”

 

“Wait are we really not going to tell him?” Tiffany asked worriedly. She knew how she’d reacted the first time her boyfriend introduced his proclivities to her...

 

“Tiffany, there is so little to find delight in, and the look on his face when he figures it out will be one of those things I find delight in. So, no, we’re not telling him.”

 

“Basil, you may just be the devil. And I’m saying that because Tiffany can’t.”

 

Will listened to them go back and forth as Tiffany giggled next to him.

 

“Well, at least Tiffany would have the balls to tell a man how she feels. I mean hell, Will’s even had a go at the good old doctor.”

 

Tiffany’s giggles silenced and the tension in the car became suffocating. 

 

“…Mister Basil, I think that was too far. Miss Sloane, I’m sure he was only joking.”

 

Will turned red, glad he couldn’t see Sloane’s face.

 

“Sloane?” Will regretted saying her name, feeling her eyes turn on him, even if he couldn’t see them.

 

“Has everyone in the department slept with Hannibal?! First Alanna, now you, who’s next? Detective Jack Crawford?!” Embarrassed? Was she embarrassed? 

 

He heard her sigh and felt her cool hand on top of his, she must’ve taken off her gloves sometime when they’d gotten in the car. He didn’t answer her, feeling it’d been rhetorical.

 

“I’m sorry. I’d suspected, and Basil outting my crush is, well, embarrassing. But, I guess I’d secretly known. You’re not an ass about your past like someone else we know, but no unpleasantries on a good night. Seriously, don’t feel bad about sleeping with him. Fuck, Basil would tap that if he didn’t already know he wasn’t Hannibal’s type.”

 

Will felt the blush on his cheek burn hotter and coughed, but said nothing. Did Hannibal know how many people wanted in his pants? The conversation seemed to lighten from there, but Will noticed how Tiffany and Basil seemed to avoid mentioning anything that might bring up the gallery or  _ that _ night. Just light conversation and the occasional “turn here” or “stay straight” from Tiffany. This blindfold was making it hard to tell hide or hair of where they were going, but he had made a deal.

 

“So does Sera know you’re coming out tonight?” Basil cooed.

 

“Mmm, I may have texted her.” Sloane hedged. Will’s curiosity was piqued, but thankfully Tiffany asked the question he was pondering.

 

“Who’s Sera?”

 

Silence from Sloane.

 

“She’s one of the workers there that’s an old playmate of Sloane’s, isn’t that right you naughty little sex kitten?”  Basil said, a teasing and seemingly self-satisfied lilt to his voice.

 

More silence from Sloane, Will could only imagine how red her face was. Everyone knew about Sloane’s...affliction of discretion, but for Basil to call her out? What kind of place was this? Hopefully not some sort of German sex dungeon—sex workers were very illegal. But Sloane had said it was all above water, and she hadn’t given him reason yet not to believe her. Maybe this Sera was an ex that Sloane was still on good relations with or something of the like. Before anymore could be said, the car came to a stop and the engine was cut off. 

 

“We’re here. You can remove the blindfold Tiffany.”

 

“Sorry again, Mister Graham.” Poor girl was always so nice, how she’d gotten involved with the wild antics of these two he wasn’t sure.

 

“It’s quite alright Tiffany.”

 

Instead of his glasses he was handed a full white mask with gold embellish to create the face. 

 

“What-?”

 

“Dress code, men wear full masks. I’m sorry.”

 

He made a face but took it anyway, putting his glasses into his coat pocket without comment. He followed the three out of the car as a man, wearing a completely white mask with no descriptors on it took Basil’s car keys and bowed to him, leaving them behind. What had Sloane gotten him into? Tiffany walked up to the door and gave four solemn knocks in a specific pattern.

 

_ OneTwo... _

 

_ Three. _

 

Tiffany paused then gave one last knock. Will watched as she took a step back, her hands going to cross behind her back and her eyes hit the floor. Sloane stood taller and Basil shook out the tension from his arms as the door slowly, but silently opened.

 

Mother fuck. 

  
This was a cult.


	11. Dreams are Toys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all, it's ya boi, bringing you a new chapter like a year later! Try to just enjoy this chapter, pretty please.

The door opened to a surprisingly lit up area that resembled a foyer. Will looked around as they entered and noted it resembled more of a warehouse though. He made a face but followed the others in. Tiffany immediately moved to chat up the man in the black mask who’d opened the door for them, his suit, shirt and tie all the same shade of black as his mask. He wasn’t exactly sure what was going on and where he was... He glanced over to see Sloane handing her coat to a man behind a desk. She was “dressed” in a transparent black dress, her lingerie visible underneath and what looked like a silver chain around her waist.

 

Not a minute later the dress was taken off as well and Will’s eyes skimmed her body from head down to see thigh high stockings held up by black garters. What kind of cult orgy madness had she brought him to? The black velvet mask on she put on went with everything she hadn’t taken off yet and as his gaze finally hit her feet he noticed the spike heels that had tapped on his porch. She looked back to him with a sheepish expression and a little smile before walking through velvet curtains. Will watched as Tiffany and Basil proceeded forward in masks as well through the curtain, a stone dropping in his stomach as he knew he could only go forward. 

 

What he saw made another stone drop in his stomach. Where there should’ve been coffee tables, women were on their hands and knees with men sitting their drinks or propping their legs up on them. The smalls of their backs were sometimes even used as ashtrays. 

 

Women walked around completely naked, offering themselves to these masked clients. Some of the girls wore full masks and others half masks like Sloane’s. He felt his eyes continually falling back to her as she walked up to a red-cloaked figure. Said figure turned and the hood fell to reveal long black curls and a silver mask that looked familiar. He turned the image over in his head, wondering why it looked so familiar to him before he recognized the craftsmanship… Sloane had made that mask. His fingers reached up thoughtfully to run along the lines in the mask he’d been handed.

 

“She made the one you’re wearing as well,” Basil whispered from behind his own mask with a small chuckle, appearing at Will’s side.

 

“Who’s that she’s talking to?” Will asked, curiosity beating out reason.

 

“Sera, an old friend. They dated once but decided they were better off as friends.” 

 

So that’d been their in… The two females showed a comfortable body language with each other as they seemed to circle each other. Many males in the room had grown silent to watch the two women. His eyes drifted to the right as a stage with a large wooden contraption that seemed to form an ‘X’ grabbed his attentions. It was dark and glistening in the dim light with leather restraints at the top and bottom pieces. He noticed the cloaked woman had taken Sloane’s hand and was leading her towards that stage and he understood why he’d been sworn to secrecy. This was quite a dark secret to harbor indeed. 

 

“If Hannibal asks me I-”

 

“You must keep our secret. It is actually, and it’s quite an important secret to a lot of important people…” Basil whispered, clutching onto Will’s arm.

 

The male glanced around at the men watching Sloane and began to actually notice their attire in the dim lighting. These were men of status and power. Men who couldn’t let out where they were. He watched as a woman began to lead away a man in a gold Apollo mask when he heard the first slap of leather hitting skin and jerked to hear Sloane’s gasp as Basil held onto him tightly. He saw the cloak had been dropped to reveal a woman in only a black pair of panties hitting Sloane with what he could only assume was some kind of… toy? Leather kissed skin and another cry was let out and he realized those weren’t cries for help, she was enjoying it. 

 

“Basil, you two may have asked too much of me…”

 

He was abandoned shortly thereafter, left to his own devices to wander, yet unable to watch much more. He began to walk around, refusing to make eye contact with anyone in this… dungeon of sin? That was the best way he could think to label it. It was an accident waiting to happen. He noticed pool tables and walked over to look, seeing they were lined with… velvet. There wasn’t currently a game on one and he reached a hand down to run his fingers over, making light lines in the material as he drug against the flow of it. What a strange little detail. It would cause more drag and resistance and yet, he couldn’t find himself pulling away. It reminded him of the velvet on Sloane’s mask and he glanced to the side to see that now she was being hit with some sort of riding crop on her ass. Well, if she couldn’t have sex, this was one outlet, he just couldn’t see how it was healthy or enjoyable… 

 

“Care for a game?” 

 

Will looked up to see a rather portly man in a suit he could never afford and a gilded mask with colorful lines to make it seem happy. 

 

“Ah, sure.” He didn’t want to seem out of place too much and yet he knew he stuck out like a sore thumb.

 

He walked to the end of the table and begin racking the balls to line up and start as the man who’d offered to play him began to go through some pool sticks that’d been left against the table from a former game.

 

“Your first time here I take it. I saw you come in with two regulars, are you their guest for the night?”

 

Will chewed on his lip, unsure what that implied but decided best to just agree for now. The male went on to speak of how he’d been attending for a few years now and something about the pool tables being distracting. He frowned as he realized he didn’t have his phone on him. There were cries and whimpers he could hear from unseen rooms, causing him some difficulty as he tried to concentrate on the male in front of him. Lucky for him the man was absorbed in himself and watching the scene on the stage only really chiming to Will when it was his turn. He felt his senses slowly becoming overwhelmed as he felt everything around him becoming more and more clouded. His eyes glanced over a rather noticeably large ring on the man’s hand as he hit a winning combo and cheered to himself. 

 

“You put up a good game boy.” The man winked as a rather lithe female took the pool stick from the older man to lead him away. 

 

He’d been taking up time to wait. Will adjusted his collar and glanced around, noticing the eyes on him. He didn't need to be here. He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Basil, only able to tell by the ridiculously ostentatious red swirling designs on his mask that he’d seen earlier. His mind seemed to cool down for a moment at the comfort of someone familiar. 

 

“You don’t look so hot.”

 

“I certainly don’t feel so hot,” he said sharply before realizing how harsh his tone was and quickly softened. “Sorry, I’m out of my element and with not much say in the matter.”

 

Basil’s expression seemed to be one of pity under the mask as he squeezed Will’s shoulder.

 

“I’ll take you out for drinks to repay you. Besides, I’m sure Sloane’s almost done. We can leave then.”

 

“And Tiffany?”

 

“Oh, Tiffany only came so she could hang out with her boyfriend and go home with him. We’ll be done when Sloan is. Besides, most of the men here are a little too straight for my tastes.” Basil chuckled cooly, leading Will over to some chairs to sit in so that he’d hopefully relax.

 

Just as Will was starting to relax they heard a commotion over where Sloane and her friend Sera and then a loud yelp was heard as something made contact with flesh, their eyes turned to see Sloane was a crumpled mess on the stage clutching in the direction of her face but it was hard to see over the shaking woman towering over her and seeming to be freaking out.

 

—

 

“Hannibal is going to kill me,” Will whispered fearfully as he sat in the back seat of Basil’s car.

 

“Correction, he’s going to kill all of us. Maybe not Sloane, but he will be extremely upset with her.”

 

For lack of ability at the moment, the girl reached an arm out and swatted her best friend hatefully as she used her other hand to clutch a bag of ice to her right cheek. A man who’d somehow manage to sneak a flask in had drunkenly tried to come on stage and cause Sera to lose her concentration at the worst moment and cause Sloane to even falter and turn, the leather making harsh contact with her cheek. Both their highs had withered in that instant and Sloane was worse for it. 

 

“This was a bad idea. I never should’ve agreed to this. Hannibal shouldn't have agreed to this either.” Will had been spiraling in despair about how the good doctor would react once he saw the marks, no matter what lie Sloane made up.

 

Despite having kept silent for the sake of her swollen cheek, the woman finally piped up.

 

“I’ve had worse in seedier situations.”

 

“That doesn’t help, and I’m not sure if I want context…” Will hissed at her from the back as they got closer to his place.

 

Sloane sat on his words for a moment and glanced to Basil who shrugged and couldn’t hide the little quirk at the ends of his lips that made him grin.

 

“Probably not since some of it was kind of illegal…” Sloane muttered defeatedly as she thought on some of the things she’d done in her past. Comparatively tonight was quite tame.

 

“Please don’t say anymore, for my sake and yours.”

 

Sloane pouted, wallowing in her pain and small bubble of fear. “I’m sorry Will, I was selfish tonight.”

 

Will began to open his mouth before snapping it shut and deciding to keep his thought to himself. She  _ had _ been selfish, but she was already paying for it so there was no need to make her feel worse. And if Sloane felt bad he could only imagine how awful Sera felt considering she’d been a blubbery mess and couldn’t stop apologizing until the door was shut--even then it was only because she couldn’t be heard through the very heavy door. Instead, he reached a hand over the seat and put a hand on her head, hoping to convey some form of comfort.

 

“Just keep icing it and the swelling shouldn’t be too severe. Be more careful.”

 

Sloane was silent for the remainder of the ride, even on the way back to Dr. Lecter’s home. Basil drove with one hand and used his free hand to hold onto one of Sloane’s hands as they drove, giving the occasional squeeze every so often. 

 

“You going to be ok, daffodil butt?” 

 

Sloane scoffed at the pet name, knowing Basil only used the most ridiculous ones to lift her spirits. 

 

“Yeah… I’ll just take an ice bath.” Sloane pulled her coat closer to herself as she opened the car door, the small light flicking on to show the three angry red marks that would discolor to bruise sometime soon.

 

“Cool your jets?”

 

A humorless snort slipped out of her mouth. She shook her head as she stood up and glanced to the looming front door, all the windows dark. It took her whole person to make it to the front stoop. Sloane glanced back as Basil pulled out and looked to the bush to her right, chewing on her bottom lip. No evidence… She dumped the ice out into the bush as quietly as she could manage and shoved the ziplock bag into her coat pocket, and slipped inside as quietly as she could manage. The hallway was mostly dark but once her eyes adjusted she was able to stumble forward on her incredibly high heels. She dropped her purse onto the kitchen counter and fumbled around to find the fridge door and then the handle to the fridge drawer at the bottom, pulling it open so she could go diving for a bag of frozen vegetables of some sort. This search continued as she looked for just the right sized bag before finding purchase. A small bag of frozen green beans made its way into her grasp.

 

“Sloane?”

 

The voice caught her off guard as she was pulling away as she fought back to make a noise in response. The woman quickly shut the drawer to keep the light off her. If he saw the marks, what would he do? Her eyes adjusted as she straightened up to see Dr. Lecter’s figure not far from her. Sloane pulled her coat around herself a bit tighter, face burning.

 

“Dr. Lec- Hannibal. You’re awake. I would’ve thought you’d be asleep by now.” She fought to call him by name.

 

Her body felt as if it were on fire suddenly, painfully aware that they were alone. He was also near the light switch, and would probably want to know why she was rummaging through his freezer.

 

“I guess I did not count on you staying out as late as you did. Forgive me for worrying.”

 

Her hand reflexively kept the frozen bag behind her back as she struggled to think of a plan to get to her room without him seeing it. 

 

“Did you not eat while you were out?”

 

“Not really.” That wasn’t a lie at least. 

 

Sloane flinched as he stepped closer and was about to look down when the look in his eyes registered like a red flag in her mind. 

 

He’d noticed. 

 

He swore under his breath in a language she didn’t know and opened the fridge door so he could see her in the light all before she could truly react. This time Dr. Lecter was swearing a lot more profoundly. Could he ground her technically? She felt like if he could, he’d find a way.

 

“What. Happened?” His tone was dark and his words cut through the air between them like a knife.

 

Sloane gulped audibly, a little scared of him now, and not in the fun way she usually liked.

 

“I accidentally got hit in the face… with a flogger…”

 

She hadn’t expected the sharp intake of breath or the hurt that she saw flash in his eyes before they turned to stone. Her stomach knotted itself uncomfortably as she watched his hand reach behind her and pull out the frozen bag of vegetables from her hand.

 

“I will not tell you how to live your life, but some honesty would be appreciated, Miss Sloane. Do I ask for too much from you? Please, let me know.”

 

Death would be less painful than this. She wished she were dead instead of facing him. Sloane felt like a small child who’d gotten in trouble for sneaking out. Her eyes glared at the floor as tears stung at the back of her eyes. This was embarrassing. The room filled with silence for a few moments, neither person saying a word. Dr. Lecter stepped forward and placed the frozen bag against her cheek gingerly. Sloane jumped a little bit in place in shock and looked up, cheeks flushed as her eyes locked with his. The door to the fridge slowly shut and they were left in darkness, staring at each other in a strange silence.

 

She felt the heat from his body and sucked in her bottom lip, chewing on the edge. With anyone else she would’ve taken advantage of the situation. What was wrong with her? Sloane was about to close the distance between them when her stomach let out a long and guttural growl. Her face burned as she was pulled from her impulsivity.

 

“When was the last time you ate?”

 

Mortification filled her with a mix of regret. She was never going to sleep with him and it may just be the death of her.

 

“Uhh, I think I ate breakfast.”

 

“Should I make you something then?” She could feel the judgement in his tone, or she was just assuming it was judgement?

 

“It’s late.”

 

“I will not have you starve on my watch.”

 

Sloane grunted and held the frozen bag against her cheek.

 

“Let me get changed then.”

 

Dr. Lecter watched as she slouched off and slipped around him, walking up the stairs. Time passed, and continued to pass. Hannibal frowned as he looked at the almost complete meal in the oven and turned to go check on Sloane. It had been forty-five minutes since she’d gone off. He made his way up the stairs, mind racing to why she hadn’t come back. Had she left in some sort of embarrassed fit? Maybe she was having an episode in the bathroom…  No, it was completely silent as far as his ears could detect. As he made his way to her bedroom door, he noticed the slight crack and called out almost reluctantly.

 

“…Miss Sloane?”

 

He was met with silence making his frown deepen and he slowly pushed the door open to see her splayed across her bed, passed out. Hannibal couldn’t help the smile that flitted across his features briefly as she was in nothing but a pajama shirt, pajama pants hanging around her knees, hands still clutching them. Her phone lay next to her face, she’d been on the phone, speaking to whom he wasn’t sure, but the conversation had clearly ended a bit ago as the screen was completely dark. He looked to see Atlas curled up next to her on a pillow and snoozing away contently. That dog worried about her more than he did sometimes. Hannibal quietly crept in and moved the phone to the nightstand with the rest of many odd and ends of hers and looked back to the sleeping woman thoughtfully. He needed to shift her so she wouldn’t catch a cold, but he also didn’t want to wake her. Sloane had proven to be a decently hard sleeper when she was exhausted enough.

 

Hannibal slowly pushed an arm behind her neck and then another under the crook of her knees and repositioned her gently as not to give her a fright. He felt a bit of heat build up under his collar as he pulled her pajama pants off for her. It would be too difficult to pull them up her legs and hips and not wake her. He was painfully aware of her hips, though, as he moved them to shift the covers from under her and make sure she’d be warm sans pants. As he did he heard her stir and mutter something, flopping onto her side away from him with one arm curling up against her chest. Sloane resembled a small child with such a soft expression, lips pouting out and her brow slightly furrowed in some frustration. The man chuckled at the cute expression with the gentlest of smiles. He was powerless against her after all.

 

——

 

Sloane awoke to Hannibal curled in the bed with her. When had she fallen asleep? When had he joined her? Her cheeks flushed as she noticed he wasn't wearing a shirt. Her breath caught in her throats as he seemed to rouse from his own sleep. His eyes slowly opened sleepily and a sly smile spread across his face, causing the flush to travel down her neck and cause a pang in her groin. 

 

“Good morning Sloane.” 

 

Her name seemed to slip off his tongue like honey, coating her heart. Had something happened last night? She pulled at her brain to try and remember but only found blankness. She watched him slowly prop up himself with a hand, that sloppy smile still holding her attention. 

 

“You just looked so cozy I wondered if I could sleep as well as you if I were to join you.”

 

His words seem to burn her veins and bring Sloane closer to him, her lungs struggling to untangle themselves in front of the half dressed man that had stolen her adoration without trying. His free hand reached out to stroke the side of her face, causing a shudder to run down her spine and down to her toes. 

 

“I have been holding myself back for a long time, but your beauty is so ensnaring. I apologize my dear Sloane.”

 

_ His dear Sloane.  _ She felt that thrum down in her groin again as his hand cupped her cheek, thumb drawing small circles in her skin. The blonde couldn't help but lean into his touch, a small purr coming from the back of her throat. Her eyes shut, missing the way he hungrily gazed at her. Was this really happening? Had something happened while she was asleep? Surely this had to be a dream, and yet his touch felt so real. She heard him move and felt his lips graze down her throats causing a soft moan to slip from her lips. 

 

“Hannibal?”

 

“Hm?” His voice vibrating against her throats as he continued his exploration. 

 

Sloane grasped to find words and collective thought as he found her collarbone. Had she fallen asleep while undressing? 

 

“Are you sure about this?”

 

A low throaty chuckle resonated against her flesh, causing that thrum again and her to shiver again against him. His hand had traveled down to cup one of her breasts, thumb toying with her nipple and causing her chest to slowly lift and press into his hold, despite her doubt. Her eyes fought to stay open only to catch his watching hers with a fiery hunger. 

 

“I am more than sure, if you are.” 

 

His voice was like gravel rolling under her feet, enveloping and eliciting a full body reaction despite the soft tone. A small whimper fought its way from her throats as his teeth chewed at the flesh on her collarbone. 

 

“Fuck… yes, please. I need this.” 

 

He seemed to smirk against her flesh as his mouth moved to kiss down the skin between her breasts teasingly, free hand pulling the sheet away, all that was covering her was a pair of lace panties and he in only his pajama pants. Sloane no longer cared if it were a dream because she wanted to see this through ‘til the end. One of his hands slipped under her back, nails dragging down the flesh causing a gasp to pull itself from her as her body bucked up and into his mouth as he continued down his path. No words were necessary now. His lips created a blazing trail down her navel as his intentions grew clear. 

 

His hands moved to take her hips, thumbs making deep circles around her hip bones and causing her hips to buck. He knelt and her eyes glanced down to catch his just in time as he nipped at the edge of her panties tauntingly. Her nose wrinkled as she wanted to force him where she wanted him but at the same time forced herself to allow Hannibal to take his time. 

 

“You're going to be the death of me Hannibal.” Sloane managed to huff out as he began nibbling at her thighs playfully. 

 

He chuckled again, his breath blowing near the hem of her panties, causing her breath to hitch, nails tearing through the pillow under her head as she squeezed, fighting the urge to snap her thighs around his head. 

 

“You flatter me, little sweetling.” 

 

The pet name caused her cheeks to flush in embarrassment. 

 

“Have you ever tasted human flesh?”

 

The question caught her off guard, causing all lust to cease and sputter to a halt as her eyes unscrewed to look down at him. Taste… human flesh. 

 

“Like, eat it?”

 

His head bobbed in a small nod as his tongue ran down the flesh on the inside of her thigh, causing goose pimples to grow over her flesh as she shivered in a mix of fear and lust. Her mind fighting to get her to focus. 

 

“They say once you have tasted it, nothing compares.”

 

Her mind reeled to try and get her to react, but her body froze. 

 

“Like a rich pork almost.”

 

Suddenly the hunger in his eyes didn't seem to be for sex. When she went to move her hands, she felt shackles holding them close to the headboard. Her voice seemed to have fled, she was unable to make any sounds at present. His lips curled up in a devilish grin that was too handsome for the words slipping out. How could he make something so awful sound so normal? Like he was speaking of some over-priced delicacy. Sloane felt tears prick at the back of her eyes. 

 

“Hannibal, this isn't funny.”

 

His eyes seemed to take on a light of surprise, eyebrows raising at her. 

 

“But is it not? The things we look down upon seem to be the most indulgent and pleasuring.” His calm tone seemed to unnerve her. 

 

She hiccuped as tears streamed down her cheeks. He tsk’d at her softly as a hand reached up to wipe her tears away. 

 

“Come now sweetling, I left you hints. No heart will taste as wonderful as yours. Without it, you will be perfect.” 

 

His tone almost seemed to infantilize her and make her feel dumb. His words that sounded so sweet seemed to damn her. Sloane watched helplessly as he smiled lovingly at her and leaned down, his tongue lapping at her thigh. She shuddered and whimpered, his hands holding her legs so she couldn't shut them. Hannibal’s lips curled back and that beautiful mouth she’d ogled suddenly bit deep into her thigh, somehow breaking the flesh. 

 

Sloane finally let out a loud cry and sat up abruptly, tears streaming down her cheeks and her eyes seeing only an empty room. Her heart hammered in her chest as she whipped off the sheets and saw her skin in tact, a low full ache in her cheek. It was just a nightmare. Her body still hurting with phantom pains. It had all felt so real and had been so terrorizing that the tears kept streaming down her face. She hasn't realized the loud whine in her ear before it dulled and she saw Atlas curled up next to her and nosing her. 

 

Her hand finally fell down on his head, to scratch him behind the ear. When had she fallen asleep? Had she eaten with Hannibal? Her body shuddered as she remembered the dark eyes full of hunger. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I'll be back with more.


End file.
